air to breathe

Somedays I get a little frantic because it’s like I can’t breathe, there’s just no air to breathe. I want to see the sky, the whole big sky from end to end and no end at all.

Buildings and shadows and numbers, numbers ticking, always ticking, swallowing up all the air until there’s just not enough. Numbers ticking, always ticking. We all play this game of suffocation. There’s not enough air left for me.

I want to run. Somewhere there’s air to breathe. I have to run, run, run, to go where the sky gets big.

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lullaby

The early morning rain sings softly to me. Like a lullaby, it calls me back toward dreamtime, pulling me there with its whispery voice. 

The rain suggests a pause, a delay to the usual commencement of ‘getting things done.’ It reminds me to let go. It reminds me some things are beyond my control, so just let go. 

It is a knowing letting go, an almost rueful letting go that must suddenly remember and admit, after all, what matters. 

The susurrus of the rain cradles me in a hallowed space with all the gentle attentions of a doting parent. I am soothed by this quiet listen to the earth, sky, and air that are my home, suffused with the glow of love and trust found there.