There is Always Time
The sound of the gravel crunching under the tires as we roll the car into its familiar place. We are home. Three heads look up from their grazing, while I look over at them. Oh how I missed them while we were away! I am dying to be with them. To do my most favourite thing with them: not much of anything.
To just soak up their energy; hang with them; watch them; lie with them; at most, give them a brush. The repetitive sweeping motion of the brush against their hair; watching the dirt fall away; seeing the gleaming coat underneath reveal itself more and more. I am nowhere else. I am just there, and it is enough.
But who’s got time for that. I can’t lie around and do nothing. There are much more important things that beckon. There’s unpacking and laundry and putting everything away. There’s paying bills and making appointments and answering emails. And then there’s a week’s worth of work to catch up on, and another week’s worth to get ahead of.
The next morning, I woke up to the feeling of gravel crunching in my throat as I tried to swallow. I am sick. This cannot be! I don’t have time for this! I am determined to get up and get something done, but my body is determined not to. It wins. I can’t move, I can’t talk, and with my throbbing head, I can’t even read. As I watch the tissues build up on the floor and the night table pile up with half-drunken glasses of water, the irony is not lost. The body doesn’t care about time. There is only one time anyway; the present moment. And we always have it.
So I guess I'll just lie around and do nothing now and let that be enough.
Thank goodness I have the time.