Moving ironwork sculptures grace the lawn outside the chapel, spinning slowly and gracefully in a cool fall breeze – photo by Kate C.
Particularly at three a.m. I now call it, “My good old friend, three a.m.” although that’s gilding the lily (Does anyone know the source of that expression?).
Last night, at the beginning of my second week of self-isolation, I opened a kitchen cabinet here in the mountains and saw two furry creatures either copulating or dying.
I like snakes, and mice don’t give me the willies (now where does that expression come from?) but these two creatures were too large to be mice although they lacked the configuration of rats, so my usual solution—to scoop them into a teacup, cover it with a saucer and carry it outside—wouldn’t work. As far as I know, they are still doing whatever they are doing in my kitchen cabinet. I’ll have to ask for help.
And that’s what of a lot us hearty independents are doing now, although reading in this morning’s valiant local newspaper, The Santa Fe New Mexican, that older women are the least vulnerable to this “thing” did make me feel stronger in my isolation.
This brings me by roundabout ways to the sweet little breeze.
In all but the bitterest cold, I sleep with my bedroom window open at least a few inches. At 3 a.m. last night when I was lying rigidly awake with the thought of those creatures, a sweet little breeze crept in through this crack and caressed my face—there’s no other verb for it. And I smiled. I’ve found that the combination of the sweet little breeze, often returning at this dark hour when I need it, and the smile it brings eases me back to sleep.
So for all of us who have bad moments in the dark of night, try opening a bedroom window. Maybe my sweet little breeze will travel all the way from New Mexico and bring you a smile, and sleep.
I hope so.
Hi SAllie, I am good friends with 4:30am. I wake up precisely at that time every morning. Very early on PBS, there’s a 30-minute program called Classical Stretch. I’ve done it a couple of times, but afterwards, I am wide awake with no hope of anymore sleep that day. Still, stretching is better than starting my day with my uncompromising irritation with the trump dumbbells. I spend most of my time alone anyway, so my life hasn’t changed much. But I miss concerts and the shared experience of the music. Recorded music just doesn’t do it for me. I can’t wait for your book! Carlota