I wake – the same sleepy weight in my eyes, surrounded by the perfectly conformed sheets and quilt. But now it is not the sun sneaking in the window or the harsh soundings of my alarm that wake me. No. It is the patient squeaks of a bald little beauty in the next room.
It is her call that brings me back to earth and beckons me to begin again the daily celebration of life.
Her life is simple – only a matter of food and sleep delivered with love.
Our lives together follow a simple pattern and rhythm and they are not easily interrupted by outside intrusions. We are a happy and hardy island where smiles and spit-up are as frequent as the sun shining. The wooden floors under our feet are the sand. The little blue Mazda in our driveway is our life raft. The great green grass is the vast ocean. The big grey dog perched on his large pillow is our guardian against dangerous beasts and foul weather.
We are tragically content with the boundaries of our world and whenever we leave, always return as if letting out an enormous sigh.
Life is now simple and bright and beautiful – like no clear dream I have ever experienced.
It is toes
and wet noses
and fuzzy hair
and open-mouthed snores
and a beating heart.
When I reflect on what my life used to look like – the hype the flurry of activity in each day – I do not mourn. When I trace the frame of my former existence and it’s solo melody – I do not weep. For this smallness, this simplicity, is a gift and has been the greatest treasure I have yet to know.
In other parts of my world: I have not done an ounce of Christmas shopping. Not and ounce.