I always forget how important the empty days are, how important it may be sometimes not to expect to produce anything.~ MAY SARTON
I can think of no one and no thing beyond the need for maintenance. Yet we sometimes push ourselves past the bounds of reasonableness, in an apparent belief that keeping our nose to the grindstone gets us to “the goal” quicker. But like the figure-8 driver, weaving in and out of traffic in a manic quest to “get there,” that “there” may materialize in the form of a hospital bed … or worse.
Trees show muted hues of green, with the occasional stark contrast of a smack-you red Cardinal nestled in its leaves. The lawn we walk past without notice beckons with gazillions blades of grass, the different heights of each blending for an illusion of absolute uniformity. Nature surrounds me, you, anxious to delight, wedded to the idea of lightening our load—if only for a few moments. Even the ubiquitous squirrel pulls SoooooulTrain maneuvers, Nature’s persistent attempt to coax a mental smile. Ignore Her, and the dire need for periodic personal replenishment, at personal peril. So far as we “know,” we get one body, one life, one day at a time.
A watch forms no requisite for knowing what time it truly is. It’s time to take time—to replenish, to reinvigorate. Don’t wait for Nature to force Her hand. By then, it just might be too late.