She says, It's gonna be a great year, and it's not until I hear her say it that I realize how much I doubt it.

I'm longing for something quiet now, something docile, steady and sweet. Something just like this moment--under a heap of flannel-covered down, watching the treetops dance in the red morning light.

It's hard to believe that something quiet is enough, or even allowed--that it will not squander the good graces of the universe. But I am watching so many who are ever on display and noticing how unwell it is for their souls.

Every leap must be followed by a proportionate grounding. A time to sink back into the support of the earth, to let the tremble make its way out of my legs and make sure I don't lose myself in the midst of it all.

What if this quiet reaches far past the bounds of February, I wonder. Can I grant myself enough permission for that?

I must. I must.

Read more January 2014 writings here.