After a day where a sudden drop in tempurature causes green leaves to fall like the piano needles from Charlie Brown’s xmas tree

I must quiet my mind.

Sometimes it can be done with reading on the train. And sometimes it needs to be done by formulating, or finding, some clear thing out of the jumble of tangled strings and wires— the ones that formed knots in one’s head during the tumult of the day. 

Today was like that; an unexpected little chaos breezed into an already brick-stacked schedule. It turned out alright; was momentary. But at the time it was like when something otherwise sturdy takes a fall and lands on that precise and only corner (allowing for the rubric of physics) which results in a spectacular S H A T T E R

It took me a longer pause than I wished to return to my even keel. I’ve taken on a great deal all at once and there have been residuals as well, so this is to be expected. Par for the course, situation-wise. There will be breaks in the (aspirational) smooth surface of the water. Long days. On most of them I have thrived with the energy of it all.

My goal, as ever, is to balance or make friendly the aspirational with the practical. It’s my Modus operandi. It’s the Farm in me, indelible. Deadlines are sacrosanct. (Well, outwardly imposed ones more than my own— but that’s between me and Me.)

I may be ready to read now. 

(Shoulders down; deep breaths.)

Or maybe I’ll listen to some tunes for the last few stops, and then the walk. (The walk is one of those things I rarely trade away for easy or faster.)

 

There is the odd moment wherein it feels like it’s trying to break me. But, then, there are the moments where it reenforces what I’m here for. 

2 thoughts on “After a day where a sudden drop in tempurature causes green leaves to fall like the piano needles from Charlie Brown’s xmas tree”

  1. The ginko tree busied itself all summer, photosynthesizing, etc., suddenly there’s a cold snap, it looks up, realizes it’s not in China, but rather some city street in North America, and drops its leaves in shock. It’s ok, it’s tough and lives for two thousand years. Yes, deep breaths, let the air out slowly – -twice as long as it took to breathe in, it actually helps.

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