In the past, when asked how I was, my answer was pretty frequently “Weary.” Homeschooling three children, taking graduate classes, and doing a variety of Other Things can develop into weariness, I think, which is different from being tired.
I have to say that I have not felt weary since the Collapse of 2005, which, if you know me, is a reference to the accident our family was involved in last March. In the weeks and months of convalescence, during which I was unable to walk on my own two feet, during which I had to see my children ferried off afternoon after afternoon to Dear Mothers who had Energy, during which I had to take an incomplete for my graduate class, I learned in new and profound ways to Rest in the goodness of God.
That has been So Good.
I still get tired. I still get overwhelmed. And sometimes busy-ness of the body converges with busy-ness of the mind, resulting in a simultaneous heaviness and an inability to dwell on anything.
That makes me Really Tired.
I have been busy lately. Busy. More issues than homeschooling have vied for my daylight hours. I have been running around like that proverbial headless chicken, meeting deadlines and keeping appointments. Bill’s illness (from which, I am pleased to report, he is Mostly Recovered) prevented home from feeling anything like normal, and the house started to look like it does when I’m working on a paper: a Disaster.
But yesterday and today have been better. I spent a good bit of Tuesday afternoon reclaiming my home with the vacuum cleaner (I Love to vacuum), finished reading my Thomas Mann assignment and, yesterday morning, very very early, went for a walk.
The air was colder than it has been (we’ve had a joke for a winter this year), and the naked trees moved gently in the moving air: a wind– glorious– was just beginning.
I love the bare trees and this opportunity to really study their architecture. They are frank in their barrenness, their trunks dull and brown. But their branches expand into the finest articulations. They are unapologetic and waiting. They are open and expectant. They are glad.
The sky was light when I set out, and reaching the top of a difficult hill, I saw the tops of some pine trees picked out in a vibrant green, one of the colors of joy. The brown branches, too, reflected light somehow despite their dullness, and a growing wind moved them all as the sun broke over the edges of the world.
