Last night snowflakes swirled around the cabin for several hours. The flakes were enough for me to count them as an actual flurry. Last week I had a few flakes, too, but you had to be on high alert to be quick enough to see them. Not last night. The flakes tickled my face and were thick enough to obscure the more distant trees of the forest, if only briefly.
Perhaps that little bit of snow is what feeds the restlessness I feel. I am not the only one to feel it, though. The dogs misbehave in the crisp weather and seem to have a renewed energy they can’t contain in good behavior. I am impatient when chores or work force me to stay inside and don’t seem able to settle until I am outside. And then I have to force myself to stay in the moment and not let the cares of daily life intrude on this precious time.
Sometimes I never do slow down. I can’t find that comforting groove where the minutes seem long and precious, and each moment is an experience to treasure. I try to let it go, that restlessness, that urge to hop to the next chore or the next thought. Sometimes I am successful. And sometimes I swirl like the wind-tossed snowflakes and never alight.