Tonight in Anstruther it is raining, the flat is nearly empty, the last meal has been cooked and eaten. We have said goodbye to our friends, our favorite places. Strange--leaving, arriving.
This past month has been slow: slow writing, slow thinking, slow moving body. The seasonal warmth has come slowly to Fife. Summer is tentative--chill winds, fast moving clouds, roses as big as plates, gone in a day in the sea air. Heat comes slowly, if at all. I am slow in all things, have a difficult time being present, committing to the days as they pass. I am slow to wake up in the morning. Slower to fall asleep. I worry about the future. I don't even know what things I should worry about (as a parent) so my worry is spread thinly over everything, seeping into strange crevices. Peace. Peace. I learn peace slowly.
Lord carry me. Show me your days.