In constant motion / by Christina Rosalie

Five minutes to write is all I seem to be able to scrounge up amidst the hubbub of spring—renovations are now in full throttle, every day, every hour one of us is there. Marathon training is also ratcheting up—and it’s awesome to feel the effects of training: yesterday I went for a nine mile run, ending with steep up hills for several blocks.

It was amazing to feel my lungs expand, to not be out of breath, to just be able to continue at the same pace up and up. I wish I could transfer these effects to the rest of my life, but instead I find I’m whirling about like a dervish, trying to hold on the sacred in small things.

The way the maple blossoms are red and nubby at the end of every twig on the trees that line our block now; the moon, almost full in the early evening sky; playing chasing games with Bean, his giggles filling the room with delight; the five minutes DH and I snatched in bed this while Bean explored the bedroom—just the two of us, warm from sleep, snuggling; the fact that finally, finally fresh produce that doesn’t come from half the world away, is returning to the stores.

I look at the time and wonder how every night it gets to be nearly midnight so quickly. How is it possible that the hours after Bean goes to bed become a mere handful of seconds? Like humming bird wings in motion, a blur of minutes.