Some times I cannot catch my breath. Thoughts settle so heavily on my chest and then retreat to clumsily swirl through my mind over and over like a tiny ballerina learning how to pirouette.
I can remember times throughout my life when I was able to breathe freely and silence the dancing thoughts. Getting lost in the minutiae was easy.
The rain is falling steadily. A slight breeze is carrying faint sprays of raindrops through the window screen. This is a quiet murmuring, white noise rain.
For a few minutes it is just me, the rain and the petrichor. That smell of rain hitting hot earth lends to flashes of sitting on city stoops while thunder rolls and lightning blazes in the distant, mixed with nights in the woods watching heavy rain drops plop through the pine trees creating small winding rivers along the rocky dirt roads.
And just like that the rain stops, a group of teen boys come crashing through the front door, dogs bark, the twirling thoughts come dancing back in and I’m plunged back into the chaos.
I hope to get lost in the minutiae again and again.
bean láidir 