Pause

Wishing every day was a beach day like this one. ❤️ Sand in between my toes, surf lapping at my ankles, and tiny object finds in my favorite earthen colors. Today was a day to press pause, choosing to play, instead. My brain and heart said, “Thank you.”

For the remainder of this day, the sensation of lake waves radiates on my legs like fingertips drawing invisible pictographs. It tickles, and yet I refuse to put my shoes back on, as doing so would interrupt the dancing, flowing lines of these soft caresses. Closing my eyes now, memories of the views to where water meets sky, and midday sunlight sparkles on wetted rocks and pops atop white foam bubbles in endless glitter designs are pure beauty, laughter, and lightness I crave. I am missing these in my life.

Time is moving too fast and too slow, all at once. My present timeline blanket is on a trajectory into unknown, darkened space. The weight and texture of grief-spun threads have been heavy to carry and have caused raw spots on my tender skin from gathering it’s bulkiness in my weary arms. My timeline does not protect me, it has snagged itself on sharp objects, pulling me along with it. Holes and irregular weaving are all-too evident.

Time disappears while I am at the beach and I’m thankful for this small reprieve. It is a choice to come back, to turn away from sand, sun, and surf, and pick up my timeline, again. Time waits for me to return while tapping its favorite hard-bottomed shoe that makes the most awful clicking sound. Now you know the truth: that ticking clock mechanisms are just reminders that time wears annoying footwear as a sign of its own pushy impatience.

Today, I am pacified by the simplicity of having a “beach day” and I am not wearing shoes. ~Paula

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