Rest

Cattails sway like a troupe of willowy ballerinas to the rhythm of the wind as we anchor in a small private cove surrounded by wild shoreline.  I stretch out on the floor of the pontoon boat, grateful for the respite from busy activity, and study the cloud-studded sky.

A celestial pillow fight seems in progress.  Silky, feathery clouds appear at first glance to be frozen, and yet a slow motion choreography is in place.  They gradually change position, and I relax as their deliberate dance defines my own slowed breath, my own slowed thought.

Simple, uncomplicated, elemental things.  Dancing cattails.  Floating cloud-feathers.  They envelop me until my inner grinder stops grinding.  The clamp of busyness loosens.  Shallow breaths give way to deep, even ones. 

The sun spangles the water.  A blue heron flies overhead, swooping its wings with powerful, and yet seemingly effortless, strokes.  And I rest.