Inward turning…my personal weather, a stillness, a vacuum…the “doldrums” (nautical term, describing an equatorial region of the Atlantic Ocean, marked by still air, sudden storms,  unpredictable winds). I prefer the earth beneath my feet, certainty… Adrift, all the same… The sensation manifests — in a shortness of breath, a faint lack of oxygen; as a heaviness in my gut. I am not unhappy, no. Unfocused, yes; “at sea”, so it seems. A pattern. Free of resistance, denial, struggle, I sit in its company, as if with someone I’ve known. Too long. A lifetime. We occupy shared space, absent of dialogue. Lonely, but comfortable. And then — interruption. Gwynnie leaps into my lap (open invitation to any cat). Her purr, a revelation. Her hard little head (thrust against my chin) confirmation of here, now. Physical reminder, in all her warm, fuzzy critterness — slack sails will fill and stir; the compass, reorient… Spring, too, will leap unexpectedly. (As a cat.) Woodland trails will call…chipmunks, uncurl from  nests…birdsong, inscribe the pulsing air… Reminder that I will feel — again, soon — the quick green tremble of everything. And this immersion — so imminent — this reconnection, and close observation will feed, refuel: body, mind, spirit. Creative well. Whole.

A lot to lay on a season, but Spring can take it.

— C.Birde, 3/19