|Wisteria in my Neighborhood|
Yesterday, I watched pieces of a French movie and struggled through a couple of chapters of an Agatha Christie mystery which on a "normal" day off I can lose myself in.
My attention span and thinking outside of the box is both escaping me. I can only see and deal with what is front of me. Washing a dirty dish. Making a simple sandwich. Answering a text from a worried friend. Checking my dwindling bank account balance.
This morning, finally, I roused myself to get up out of bed, ignore the obsession of checking the news and go out and get out of my fixed state.
The first thing, I did, was touch the wisteria tree, the blooms fresh from the morning mist. My next door neighbor planted earlier this year. I pushed my face into the cluster of lilac blossoms inhaling the scent dreaming of walks through Victorian gardens, a book in hand, waiting for friends to arrive, conversations, afternoon tea with sugar and dainty sandwiches. Not that I want to live that life. Only escaping into it for an hour or so.
I walked sidewalks. Passing by a half dozen scattered people walking their dogs, dogs walking them, or dragging their dogs by harness behind them.
I found a running creek and watched the sparrows dig in the dirt. I noted the BlackBerry bushes, vibrant green winding through tree and branch to the moving water.
I found a trail. Open. With fresh bark outlining a path up through oak trees into the green hills. I walked part way and turned back, wanting to savor the rest of the way with my partner later.
How I relish the simple things. How I resist with all my body, might and mind to figure out the future.