I move into the sunlight to thread my needle. It’s warm and I want to stay here. It’s just the right light to thread a needle, but too bright for sewing.
I move back into the shade.
I text a friend who is on her way to the West Coast to visit family for the holidays. I tune into Vermont Public Radio, but I don’t want to hear voices. I put on Bellydancing music to prepare for tonight’s Hafla but I crave silence.
Not that it’s quiet. The power strip ticks like a clock and the iron clicks. One car then another whooshes by on Route 22 keeping time with the iron.
I push the needle through the old tablecloth and quilt. I pull the tread up and away.
It feels good to sew, calming.
Christmas is easier this year, but I still feel it. The sense of people being away, rushing, planning, doing.
“Be easy,” I say to myself.
I look up at the birdfeeder on the other side of my studio window. An invisible force keeps it swaying long after the birds are gone.
I wait. I wait.
A chickadee lands on the feeder to the call of a blue jay.