Today, the farm is decorated with ice, each limb, each twig looking as if it was dipped in quiet light.
The cows next door have moved down the pasture, a few yards means the difference between sure footing and an undignified slide on one’s barrel-belly.
But today, I am weary. Book marketing and a wonderful run of editing opportunities. Three works in progress and some strange fatigue I can’t seem to shake have convinced me, wisely, to take today. I may write. I may edit. I may sleep off and on while HGTV shows lull me.
Today, though, I’m taking it easy.
And you, weary one, maybe you can do the same. In the midst of all that is pressing, all that feels like it cannot get done unless you do it, all that screams from lists and small voices, all that presses at the edge of your jaw when you wake in the middle of the night. . . maybe you can put that aside today . . . or maybe just this hour . . . and take a walk or sip a cup of tea by a window . . . or leave the office and see a movie . . . or take a blessed nap.
Maybe you cannot, too. And that’s okay. Just know that I wish this rest for you. . . a place where you feel your breath come deep into the bottom of your lungs, where you just keep a list nearby for later or tomorrow, where you let it all go and be with you . . . off for just a bit.
May you find the perfect rest somewhere today.