slowly

Sometimes, when I work at home alone I can master the art of slowing. The roar and rush of the weary workaday world can seem far away. The sounds and colours of a world not here, a faintly humming and shining world is one I have left.

It is at these times when I feel most free to do my own private thing, be a homely Me. Mix up the order of the day. Paint the side gate at 7.15am, and in my dressing gown. Prune the top of the Maple tree using my new telescopic ladder (in my dressing gown).

 Eat a breakfast for lunch.
Couldn’t quite open the door to the postman in my dressing gown with grunge hair, to sign for a parcel - but called through the door acknowledgment (and thought for a moment that he may be thinking I had something to hide)

Didn’t have a shower (thought about it though), and gardened in my most rubbish clothes (but still felt drawn to a careful layering of colours - what?!).

Cleared out some more books, rearranging what is to be read next. I have at least one less than a thousand thanks to that, hum.
Stripped the linen and made a fresh bed listening to Women’s Hour on radio 4.

I live near a school. And here in town the children add their shrill not unmelodious notes to the day if one can idle, stop and listen to their flutter. I match the breaks in their day with my own. Dropping under their childish spell.

I set the laundry going. Settle to write again. Maybe I will have a glass of wine for tea and a piece of chocolate. I concentrate my passion of being a very happy home-bod, for this day.