My view is the sky outside my window, a dirty screen and cobwebs in the corners. The sky isn't even really blue anymore because the sun is fading, but we live in SoCal so the smog blocks all blue-ness anyways. My view is criss-crossed with power lines and flitting birds- those stupid sparrows who breed like bunnies in our backyard.
And even though my eyes are restless and I'm looking at the underside of shelves (I need to dust) and half-painted projects on the wall (too much effort to finish before a move), I'm held in your arms because you just called pause on life. We haven't really connected in days because of your hospital trip and I can't quite readjust to my regular work week (as my lab partner can attest to). You were overwhelmed with my rushing rushing rushing to get things done, my constant need to be busy and on top of it.
I need to feel that way because I so often know I'm not on top of anything but a swiftly shifting pile of lists and projects and expectations. So when you call pause I stop in my tracks and turn around and we're all arms and snuggles and content sighs because we needed this. I needed you, loud and angsty and complaining about how hungry you are because I missed this in the last few days.
When the phone rings it's back to business but now we're better. We've made that connection, however brief and tentative and fleeting. That's how I see things now.
That one was hard this week! I couldn't quite get a handle on this one, but I'm glad I did it- even if I had to shoo Mr. E out of the room to write it.