I’m sitting on my parents back porch. The yard is pulsing. The cicadas and the breeze and the bird chirping in the trees. The neighbors have chickens and they're pecking around the yard. I don’t get the obsession with suburban chickens, but it does add charm to the place.
Binx, the one eyed cat is lounging on the patio with me. He has a very, “Wake me when we go inside” vibe about him.
There is so much life on this tiny little hill. For an entire universe of creatures, this is all they’ll ever know. They seem to be doing quite fine.
Do I need too much? I wonder that sometimes. Is unhappiness wrapped up in thinking I need more than I already have? More fame, more money, more love, more praise? The need to see more things. To do more stuff? How many lovely days have been ruined wishing I was doing something else?
Do I try to cram things into my day in a subconscious attempt to stop time from moving? Do I fill up my time, load it down with things, in an effort to slow it down?
My off weeks often feel like the last few days of a vacation. I attempting to savor, to hold every moment I can. Time can’t be held. The more I try the more it slips. Maybe I need to do less more often. Spend some time focusing on these hills around me.