She pulls at her leash, each quick step paces with a sharp breath intake. It sounds like “huh huh huh”. I try to walk faster but my shins start hurting. I remember to breathe, and make it slow. In. Hold. And out. I look up at the naked tree branches against the white sky and concentrate on my breath. I slow down as she sniffs at a tree. I feel the energy of the trees first - slow, but deep. Then I feel the energy of the river, swiftly moving beneath the thin layer of snowy ice. Then I feel the cool air all around me. Then I feel the earth underneath me. I soften, feel myself soaking up the silence. My life is loud. If there’s no one talking, I hear my head. It talks loudly most of the time. I need the silence. I need stillness.
I woke this morning and felt the metal anxiety pouring slowly down my body. It feels like ice, but instead of freezing, it speeds everything up until the life train crashes into the brick wall. Too many thoughts. Too many worries. Too much of too much. So I take one step back and get interested. What growth can I experience at this time, I say to myself. How can I take a different path this time, I ask. What do I need, right in this moment?
She barks at me and I tie my tennies and reach for her leash.