contemplation . . .

and so at dusk, I find myself fully fed, glass of wine in hand, sitting on the deck with Pippin, unwinding.  It's not that my days are packed or uber stressful, but they are different now . . . I am more mindful of being solitary.  It's not a bad thing, just different.   I need to get used to the newness of it all. 

The woods are full of feral cats and they come to visit if I am quiet.  Pip doesn't quite know what to do with these encounters and gets shooed back inside.  She lives an encapsulated life and is not vaccinated for company of this sort.  She cries piteously to be let back out.  I tell her to go play with Ninja and Bear but she is only two and wants what she wants when she wants it. 

And so a calmness and a sameness have settled into the cave and into my life.  I am developing new habits built around oneness.  I keep the house cleaner.  I have to concentrate to make sure I am eating correctly.  I am sleeping again and keeping my nose in a book.  But I miss the chaos of two lives intertwined.  I miss my sloth.