There's room to breathe, here in this place. Like the turtle I once loved, I feel myself stretching my head out, looking around to see what things look like. Maybe now there will be time to reflect, ask, ponder, answer.
I'm moving in, inhabiting this place. It's a place my heart knows so well. Home.
My body also knows this place. Breath by breath, beat by beat, I come to rest in the quiet.
There's space for me, here.
It won't last. Slowness like this almost never does.
In our crazy world, getting to move slowly is a luxury and, like most luxuries, comes in seasons. This particular season will be ended by the squalling arrival of the little one, one who already interrupts and whose interruptions are usually welcome. Since I can't exactly stuff her back inside once she's out (and wouldn't ever choose to!) I'll emerge from my slowness to do what needs to be done.
That doesn't mean that the slow place isn't home, though it's more like Home-That-Will-Be instead of Home-That-Once-Was. I'm not sure this world could sustain itself at the pace I would choose to live, but I'm almost positive heaven can.
All the same, it's good to be slow for a time, even here. It's good to accept the season, moving in harmony with it, not trying to disarm it prematurely.