I try to squeeze a moment of writing in this morning before the pancakes, vitamin C and bed making.  Jeb’s home from school all this week.

We pulled the suitcases out of storage yesterday and cut the airline luggage tags off the bags from last year’s delayed flight.

Friends tease me that I pack two weeks ahead of time.  I don’t want to forget anything.  I hate to wait to the last minute.

I scan random lists I have scrawled, all the things that need to be done before we leave.  Items to take, people to call, mail to hold, bills to pay.

I’m not complaining.  This trip is the beacon of light at the end of my tunnel.  Each year I get to exit my remote little paradise and change the scenery.  Take a pause and turn Jeb over to a new tribe – my blood family.  I sit back and breathe.  Smile and watch him from a distance with new eyes.  Fall in love with him all over again.

And quietly I’ll slip away, alone, to the coastal forest and sink into the wealth of my own deep well.  I will languish in the space of simply being.  Make no promises except to breathe.  I’ll sit in steaming water and let hours pass.  Move in slow motion.  Feel my footsteps in new ways.  Remember myself again.

With this light beaming in the near but distant future, I remind myself to stay present.  Breathe deeply now.  It’s morning and Jeb and I can start the day with a walk in the thick dew.

There is no rush.