Winter Cometh

Retreat pace
is my natural pace.
Yet, increasingly,
I feel rushed, hurried,
under pressure
to do the many things I really do
want to do.
I’ve learned how to
live in the moment
right at the time
there’s a lot to do
on days with, seemingly,
not enough moments.
On the one hand,
it’s perfect timing:
when we have much to do
we especially need to live in the moment.
On the other hand,
it’s hard to live in the moment
when there’s much to do.

For some reason,
this morning,
I eased back into retreat pace.
I did all there was to do
at a pace
that’s natural to me.
As I drank morning tea,
instead of checking email,
I watched Woodpecker
and the Red-winged Blackbirds
share the feeders.
I meandered to the barn
listening to the birds,
taking in the cloudy sky.
I enjoyed feeding the worms
in their new home,
and adding kitchen scraps
and alpaca manure
to the beautiful community in the composter.
At the barn, I smiled to myself
because I quickly noticed
that Biak’s and Darcy’s lips
were droopy, surmising that they
had been wrestling—
so they wouldn’t be able to eat
their crumbles from their bowls.
I felt glad it was their day to get Alfafa hay,
which they can eat,
even with droopy lips.
I enjoyed petting the goats,
Pearl and Buttercup,
before they headed through the gate
into the Alpaca pen
and in the chicken house,
I stopped to savor Rooster eating corn
and the fact that he
didn’t come running to attack
(and hasn’t now for several days,
since I chased him around the barn
throwing water on him.)
I worked slowly
at bringing up firewood
for winter’s return the next few days.
I enjoyed choosing vegetables and herbs
for lunch’s soup.

There are still piles of things to tend to,
deadlines looming.
But this blessed day,
I tend them all
at my own pace.