The warmth of soapy water, hands dipping in and out, suds clinging to skin.
The reassuring quiet of washing dishes, the dripping wet as they are placed to dry.
The everyday routines that weave through my days. They anchor me.
The smell of quiche fills the house. It is not home made and that is ok.
Children's voices, book pages turning. Two chickens home sick from school.
Outside the air is crisp, crumpled decay - leaves hang lifeless from the last vines.
The smell of wet earth, plants half dead, the end of a season.
I turn to go inside and stop, the leaves alight with fire.
Such beauty. The sun is warm on my face.
The woods stand quiet, squirrels scuttle feverishly, gathering nuts.
I think of all the weight the world is holding.
Of all the grief and anger I've been reading the past few days.
How that's not the way to feed a soul and sometimes, no matter
how big the issues, it's time to turn aside and let it be enough that
the sun still holds warmth and that the food is nearly ready.
That there is food and warmth and the voices of children around me.
I think of my family, safe near Paris.
I think of all the other families, that are not.
Not just in Paris.
I think of all the losses and the mourning and the refugees, desperate.
Of how there don't seem to be answers, some days.
The questions are too big.
I think of all the articles and the news and the stories flying on social media,
and I close the door and catch the warmth inside.
I put lunch on the table and make a cup of tea.
Slow sips, sitting in the sunshine.
Three Facebook pages I do love reading, at any time: the Worldwide Tribe (Focused on the refugees in the Calais camp, France), Humans of New York (For stories. Beautiful heart wrenching life affirming stories). And then Elizabeth Gilbert, who always seems to find the most beautiful words to share on her Facebook feed. Today she wrote about facing life with dignity in hard times. Just beautiful. Read it. You'll see.