My breathing is slow and even tonight; liquid almost, like the Spanish moss draping lazily over the trees towering above lush Savannah.
I’m in a small beach house on St. Simons Island tonight, the same house where my family has been making Thanksgiving memories for several years. The bed I sleep in tonight is the one I always sleep in when our family is spending Thanksgiving in Ms. Jane’s beach house.
As we drove into the island, I could smell the salty water in the air, almost to where I could taste the salt on my lips. Anticipatory and psychosomatic, no doubt.
But most of all, I could breathe.
Deeply, painlessly, clearly.
Stresses of packing and cleaning and moving, pressures of daily life (mostly self-imposed) are miles behind me and, though I am here for a conference and will be very busy learning things and networking over the next few days, I’m also here to rest in a new setting.
To recharge a bit; to let the ocean air style my hair this week and call the shots, the breezy nights killing me into a deep, PEACEful sleep.