finally coming to a halt

dyptic of photographs - one looking up a tree, the other of rain drop circles in a pond.

She was breathing deeply, she forgot the cold, the weight of beings, the insane or static life, the long anguish of living or dying. After so many years running from fear, fleeing crazily, uselessly, she was finally coming to a halt. At the same time she seemed to be recovering her roots, and the sap rose anew in her body, which was no longer trembling. Pressing her whole belly against the parapet, leaning toward the wheeling sky, she was only waiting for her pounding heart to settle down, and for the silence to form in her. The last constellations of stars fell in bunches a little lower on the horizon of the desert, and stood motionless. Then, with an unbearable sweetness, the waters of the night began to fill her, submerging the cold, rising gradually to the center of her being, and overflowing wave upon wave to her moaning mouth. A moment later, the whole sky stretched out above her as she lay with her back against the cold earth.
– Albert Camus

making time for a quiet, slow walk, through pathways thick with decaying orange leaves – stopping, just to listen to the sound of the wind shaking drops from theĀ trees around me – the rain on my umbrella – the sliver of golden light on the horizon beneath the grey cottonwool clouds – practicing awareness – honoured to be sharing this practice over in Meghan O’Rourke LeCates online home, {with}PRACTICE, today

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