With fifteen days remaining before I travel. the pressure both increases and is released: as there is only so much one person can do, it becomes abundantly clear that the list of tasks not only will not be completed (oh no!) but truly cannot  be completed (ahh, ok).

It is a superficial drama. It affects this little constellation of cells that is Me, and maybe a couple of nearby galaxies of other “Me”s, but in the grand orchestration of sun and planets, and other suns and other planets, there’s nothing much to see here. Move along.

There are, for example, a whole lot of inanimate objects sitting around, mostly in boxes, some not yet in boxes, and some destined for a bin and (later) a hole in the ground. What if they just sit in a storage space, trickling money for a few months? What if they simply evaporate? A little inconvenience.

Then there are the living things – one could argue the inanimate objects are living veeeery slooooowly – a few plants I have potted and nurtured into relatively good health; my remaining cat, my adult children’s pet, who needs a new temporary home, then a new permanent home; my friends; my family. We’re a river of interdepending currents, one eddy spins another, one gravity-bound rush pulls its neighbors, those quiet near the bank witness to the tumult near the middle. It takes a lot of listening to hear the currents speak, and to imagine what each wants. What does a river want? To flow, and it is flowing.

Well, I have never seen a river unable to rearrange itself to meet every stone and bend, rain surge or tidal bore, and I am comfortable that this river, this time will be no different. The sun’s up! The thaw’s in full flow! Let’s go, let go!

“River” by Kühn Martin @ DeviantArt.com

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