Life is slower here, harder, but slower. Time moves on a different scale, and in some ways these eleven months feel like four years. Not in the dragging, going slowly sense, but in the way this place can settle into you, shift you, and alter your connection to your surroundings.
I normally rise before day light and experience the waking up of the world around me. An occasional plane the only sound of civilization, I light the house in these early hours with propane mantle lights, ensure the fridge isn’t humming, and the world inside is still to fully embrace the outside.
This morning I went out to tend my hummingbird charm (did you know a group of hummingbirds is called a charm?). Out here I am starting to think swarm might be a more apropos definition. One poor little girl was wedged between two seat boards on my deck chair, her left wing out behind her, breathing rapidly. Unsure what to do, I gently grabbed her by the tail feathers and as lightly as I could I pulled her out. She immediately flew to the window sill and sat for a bit, so I sat next to her and talked for a minute. She then shook herself off, and bolted back to the trees in front of the house. This is what a morning should feel like.
It is a different pace out here, no traffic, no signs of civilization, just a man and a bird on a sunny morning. I like the pace of this life. I need the pace of this life. There are more changes coming, but they all feel good. Dinner with friends last night, getting to know new people in the park, and more visiting to occur today. I have chores to do yes, but also a new life to embrace.