from the window

As so often, I stirred last night, lay there and then turned to stare at the moonlight slit in the curtains. Eventually, I left the warmth of my bed and crept out wrapped in my dressing gown, to lean against the window pane, looking out. The first hint of my thoughts pushing in on me with what felt like tiny clinging fingers wanting a home. I revolt against thought in the night, yet usually fail. What a mysterious power the mind seems to have in those early hours.

So there I leaned, thinking. Work has taken a turn much for the better to be true. It has been tough over the last two years with so little funding to achieve what we know we must. Globally tough too, I appreciate. We have won a major bid and it makes the world of difference to our work, to our charity. But even before the challenge of this time I have been gradually unraveling my way of living, questioning the frenzy which is in many ways of my own devising. Time to make an inner shift in my reality. Life is to be lived and is not relished by being a perfectionist, workoholic and careoholic. How trying for everyone, and for me. No. Relax. Enjoy. Slow.

Time ticked by with the darkness and when afterwards, back in bed, I woke with the morning, I saw it broke kindly with drifting clouds; the wind had dropped as suddenly as it rose in the night.