The windchill is -15 out now. I am just home from going to the city arboretum to stand in the indoor tropics with my friend Amelia. We entered the double doors into the glassed-in, three story heaven of plants and humidity, and stood, sighing with relief. At one point, Amelia stopped in a shaft of light and said, I am going to stay here awhile. We watched fat orange koi float below the waterfall and bright bursts of canaries drink from the leaves of orchids. We talked about we were moving into the over-sized terrarium.
When I got home, Wren was in the sun on the couch, in her own shaft of light. She tends to follow the path of sun across the floor, and I relent, place a blanket on the floor for her little sleeping sun nest.
Here we are on the couch in the beam.
|Pause, pet. Repeat.|
As usual, I am having a hard time winding down from work. Like most days, it’s GO and quadruple tasking and the stack of appointments running a little behind, so my heart cranks up and I forget to fully exhale for the entire shift.
When I was young and dated a vet, I didn’t understand why she poured herself a couple of fingers of iced vodka each day when she got home. I am 43 now, and get it.
But Wrennie has the right idea. Enjoy the beam, take a load off. She doesn’t work a stressful job. Well, she doesn’t work at all. Except buoying me each day. She makes intense eye contact, touching her paw to your hand, insisting that you stop and pay attention. Look at ME.
Ok, Wren. Little lady, let’s sit back, soak up the rays, m’dear.