i go. i plod. i click, click. i sit. i post. i brush against the water cooler of the cyber realm. the dog demands i detach at least a moment from my portable tech tethering and glance about. i do. i am damn compliant. of course, she demands i detach from whatever it is i am doing no matter how noble, like napping in a meadow, hunkered down amongst the wind deflecting winter brittled blades where the sun warms this chilled moment. she demands with her lick and lather.
the sun drops. i recall the practicality of the leave as the air drops from chill to dang cold. i make the brief powered roll to the hermitage and wait for a warmed day. in the skip of a few morns, it has not come yet. but my body is antsy with the need to make.
my materials await me. they beckon. they need. i need. i need the tether that physical making harnesses, holding me in the moment of nowness, just as the foot plod through the forrest does, just as the detethered tethering demands of my dog.
i learn to trust the untethered days. i am compelled to find peace in the making, in the writing, in the mentor ventures until my moments regather a new.
the day warms, the sun penetrates, the crystal icy snow transforms and flows in rivulets. i watch the hermitage weep from my butt plant within and am thankful for the warming. the chainsaw with sharpened blade calls knowing the winters reductions in leaf suspended fodder, biodemassed, appeals to these aging chica muscles.