terrypetersen

You can’t depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus. (Mark Twain)

I drive alone in silence and savor the freedom. Certainly traffic brings noise, but that sound is outside my jurisdiction and it isn’t emergency-vehicle or passing-train loud, at least at the moment. Sometimes I crave space simply to be, to make a detour if I want, shorten or elongate a trip on a whim—celebrate a day without obligations or deadlines, with only open blue skies and a sense of the continuing now. I love hours when words and I work together at the computer, sometimes leading to a story, occasionally discovering a truth. That takes a certain amount of love-for-the-hermit’s-life.

I haven’t traveled far when I recall an incident with my youngest granddaughter, as she dressed herself with an infant bib, at least three long necklaces, a length of cotton batting, and sunglasses. Since her speech is limited I’m not sure whether she played the part of a princess, actress, or model getting ready for a shoot. Then I recall treading water with my older grandchildren, the joy we share as the warm water caresses us, the games we play as the deep end of the pool supports us with a little kicking and a lot of laughter.

I am hit with the fact that this moment of freedom isn’t really where I want to live forever. I just need to breathe occasionally and observe the whole. Chances are I’m going to be exhausted after spending a full day tomorrow with grandchildren again. Perhaps living perpetually alone could become a tomb, not the utopia I desire. One, two, three, breathe… Real life is about to return in a matter of hours.