I've become accustomed to quiet, and hope I can become comfortable with words again. When I go walking along the river, through the woods, I will often chant a simple song, over and over, relaxing and feeling blessed whether the day is sunshine warm or misty cool. The words of the chants are the only words I use, except for the occasional "hello" or "beautiful day" exchanged with the occasional walker who passes by.
In November of last year I retired from the local housing authority, and feel that I am still recovering from the decades of bureaucracy. Once upon a time I believed passionately that everybody deserves decent housing, but dealing with rules and regulations and the ever increasing case load has tired me out. So, I'm still trying to figure out what I want to do next in my life. And as that refrain, "what next? what next?" plays through my mind I spend a lot of time looking out into the backyard, watching the garden grow, watching the finches, chickadees and sparrow visiting the feeder, and watching the play of sun and shadow as the day evolves.
And after three years I am still working on combining two households. It's been quite an adventure, and my library still needs organizing. I don't want to think about the basement. There are the mornings spent with Doug and our two cats, drinking coffee and discussing the garden or the next batch of mead.
When I was eighteen I never knew there would still be so much to do and learn when I entered my fifties.