Slippage

Slippage: White bird of paradise leaf, experiencing slippage.

Hello--Slippage happens.

I've opened up the house, windows, doors, attic fan--all of it. And breathing is easier and fresher and my shoulders are relaxing. Some tensions are slipping away.

A neighbor gave us an armload of carrots today. Apparently, they are taking off for the northern Midwest. Working online offers lots of people liberties before unknown. They are slipping away from the tensions here.

I sat in the sun, just soaking it in, playing Scrabble online with my daughter, who was six feet away. The dog is still outside, sleeping in the sun. I'm going to pull the lounger and its cushion into the sun to dry out so I can nap there . . . tomorrow.

My plans for this morning are now moved to this afternoon, and likely tomorrow morning also. Time delays don't seem to matter. My sense of time, as with that of other cultures and countries, is shifting. Noon no longer means 12:00PM but somewhere between this morning (after the sun came up) and this evening (after the sun goes down).

I was going to go for a walk, but it's so lovely, sitting here with the house open, letting the sunlight drift in through the door and the shade from the window, I don't want to leave--even though I promised myself yesterday I would, as soon as the sun returned. But there's tomorrow.

And knowing there's tomorrow, or the space in my mind for it at least, is enough . . . at least for today. It's all a bit slippery at the moment.