I hung one final shirt on the line and looked up at the sky instead of rushing back in

Dear Delyara, It only lasted a minute or two. Maybe less. But the pause mattered. The washing was done, the pegs were in my mouth, the basket was on my hip, and there was that instinctive urge to hurry immediately into the next thing because there is always a next thing. Instead I stood there under the open sky and let the wind touch my face for a second. No insight descended. No healing soundtrack played. It was just air, and me, and one shirt moving slightly on the line. But there was so much relief in not being entered by another demand in that exact minute. I think that is why I remember it so clearly.