Being still

I haven’t ventured far from the cottage this week. Sometimes it’s not so bad to be still and mostly quiet, to sit in one’s place, face the things that need doing or need thinking about.

It has its rewards, like noticing the ever-changing shades of the water from moment to moment, the shifting shapes of the clouds, the call of the crow that frequents the tallest pine near the house, the warning pain above my left eye that foreshadows a pressure shift or coming storm.

I drove out the other evening, and when I came back to the house in darkness I surprised two young deer in the dunegrass just next to the house. My headlights made them visible for only a moment before they moved out of view, but later as I stepped onto the deck to commune with the stars I heard the sound of their breathing and rustling in the grass, and felt reassured by their nearness.