“When spring came, even the false spring, there were no problems except where to be happiest. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.” Ernest Hemingway, “A Moveable Feast.”

Let’s admit it: Life feels crowded. Sometimes the days are so packed with sick kids, work deadlines, to do lists, errands, and exercise, it is as if we are in perpetual sprint—our blenders stuck on fastest puree—with very few slower moving settings in which we can pause to let the breeze of spirit in, to receive the soft sacred influx of this most sage wind.

Sometimes I just check out of things. And I don’t only mean hotels.

Nope; I mean life. Occasionally I notice this right away – I’ll find myself coming back into a task or conversation like I’ve just been startled awake during a nap. Other times, this process takes longer – it could be hours, days, weeks, months or even (in the past) years.

Where I am sitting right now a motorcycle just revved its engine and an inquisitive squirrel stopped its descent mid-trunk out of fear.  The engine has vanished down a curvy road but the squirrel remains still, afraid to shift position.  It watches me through the porch screen, wary of the sounds, the vibrations, the rhythm of a life force not quite natural, and when only the wind is left in the wake of the vehicle, the squirrel ripples its tail, as if testing the air for danger, and then dashes down the tree to a patch of lawn, careful to avoid the concrete road.