Overslept.

I rub her Beloved oil on my neck and my forearms. A reminder to myself and my body.

I really ought to remember to give myself another day off on the other end of a trip. Always feeling unprepared.

Black cows puddled across the yellow-gold hills. The muted green of sagebrush and oaks off in the distance. Blue sky. I fall in love with this view a little more each day.

I decide that I am not ambitious. I don’t want to be. That sounds too exhausting. I’d rather have vision. Is it too much to call oneself a visionary?

Can you call yourself a visionary when lately everything has felt so thickly veiled?

She takes us through, pulling off leaves of lemon balm and lemon verbena. I rub them between my fingers and brind my hand to my nose. The puts green fennel seeds in my cupped hands and then asks me if I’d like some hibiscus seeds. Maybe I just need to spend more time outside (who doesn’t?). Perfect mid-day act of self-restoration.

I tell him that I don’t have time to make scones in the morning anymore but that those are things they can make on their own. That that would help me.

I miss slow mornings when there was time for making muffins and scones and olive oil cakes. I miss slow evenings when there was more time for enjoying the process of cooking…when it didn’t have to be another chore to be rushed through on the way to something else.

No time for delight.