I don’t want to move.
G’s just stop tossing. I think he’s finally in nap-land. The small hallway where I sit outside his door is at the corner of his north facing room and my south facing room. It’s cold today, relatively speaking. There are blinds at my window, casting their shadows across the wood floor, the light of day not so much spilling between them as hanging in the air. Light like fog, taking on the washed-out look of winter. The trees are bare, the sky behind them faded. Autumn is tired of being bright and blue. Does the sky hibernate too?
I am spent like the sky. I won’t list the reasons. Everyone gets tired. Yesterday I ran into an acquaintance at the health food store—someone I find interesting and would like to know better. I asked how she was. Tired, she said, with some hesitation. But then everyone’s tired, right? she asked. I replied that I also hesitate when people ask how I am, because so often what comes first to mind is tired. I usually say it anyway, but I get tired of hearing the word spoken.
I won’t list the reasons because I’m mostly glad for this state, right now, when little is required of me. The house is quiet. I need to be getting to The three stages of the spiritual life in the theology of Elder Sophrony, and I will, in time. I’ll need a cup of coffee first.
Earlier this morning Gabriel took apart the sea blue bookshelf that houses his board books. Took it apart to try and put it back together I say, but the task was a little beyond his reach. Heck, it was beyond mine. I spent a good 45 minutes pounding at the quirky thing, finally giving in to (what I thought was) the fact of humidity, heat and cold warping it so that it would never fit properly together again. After a particularly stinky diaper change and another swig of coffee I set to returning the books to their unstable shelves. Of course I had put (at least part of) it together backwards. I whacked it apart again, much to G’s delight, and the thing slid together easily. By this point, any forward momentum I’d previously mustered had diminished to hardly a crawl (Gabriel was lying with his face to the floor, pushing himself in slow circles with his feet), so I opened a book or two as I attentively shelved. Two of them stuck out: Eric Carle’s Animals Animals and good ‘ol Toot & Puddle. I leave you with a few excerpts.
Here’s to slow days, however they may come.
from Animals Animals (a collection of poetry and accompanying illustrations in Carle’s unique collage style):
Tell me, O Octopus, I begs,
Is those things arms or is they legs?
I marvel at thee, Octopus;
If I were thou, I’d call me Us.
The tail of a fox will show no matter how hard he tries to hide it.
Dark air-life looping
Yet missing the pure loop…
A twitch, a twitter, an elastic shudder in flight
And serrated wings against the sky,
like a glove, a black glove thrown up at the light,
And falling back.
I will not change my horse with any that treads…
When I bestride him I soar, I am a hawk.
he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it.
And from Toot & Puddle, a great children’s book about two pigs who are completely different and best friends. Toot adventures across the world, sending postcards home to Puddle, who is perfectly content to stay at home.
March meant maple syrup. Puddle wished Toot were there to taste the pancakes…