Breathing fast and slow

And, therefore, let the immeasurable come. Let the unknowable touch the buckle of my spine. Let the wind turn in the trees, and the mystery hidden in dirt swing through the air.                 from "Little Summer Poem Touching the Subject of Faith" by Mary Oliver As a single woman, I could not sit still, which I recognized as a problem. At the same time, I was drawn to solitary ventures like writing and snapping pictures, or reading and watching people as I savored every last drop from a cup of coffee. For many years, I vacillated between movement and reverie. I ran the trails and streets, and occasionally the high school track, of my beach-side community. Luckily, my 500 square feet of home was in a canyon. The setting forced upon me an intimacy with the grand scale of the universe and, sometimes, in the smallest of things. From time to time, I understood that the universe would patiently reveal its secrets to me if I could but stand in one place. But the canyon