Content is

coming over me,

coming in deep.

 

My constant companion,

that gnawing fear of missing out,

that insatiable hunger 

to do it all

and fast,

it’s all blurry now,

paling with the green.

 

I feel like Tigger

rolling round on his back

in the leaves

of his beloved Hundred Acre Wood

saying, 

“There’s no place

like this place.”

 

 

Here.

Now.

It’s my constant challenge.

But I believe

each year I age

it takes less time

for me to see round the bend

to this place.

To find my Hundred Acre Wood

again.

 

Settled.

Where the leaves 

all burnished red and gold

stand stark and bright

against a navy sky.

Where raindrops pelt

the carrot tops

and the wind tussles 

my hair into

knots.

 

 

 

I settle

into my rocker

and read the children

stories

again.

I settle

into my routine,

early to bed,

early to rise.

 

I settle

into these relationships

at this time,

in this house,

with this family,

in this body of Christ,

in this school,

with this class,

with my man,

carried by

my God,

on this day

every day

content.