I need solitude like a swimmer needs air. I breath it in in great gasps, hoarding it deep inside, a secret reserve of strength.
I am supposed to be at my son's house helping to clear my stuff out of the basement, dispatching the unwanted and outgrown to the yard sale pile and boxing the rest to bring home.
I am supposed to be sorting out our finances, paying bills and checking up on our IRAs.
I am supposed to be folding laundry and cleaning out the fridge.
What I am doing is sitting by an open window listening to the rain patter softly on the new leaves. I am luxuriating in the stillness, birdsong, frogsong, the rustle of crows' wings, and the mutterings of a vaguely discontented duck. I am turning inward and touching that melancholy place that is at once sweet and sad. And there is no one home to break the spell. This, my friends, is bliss.
7 hours ago