Stranger in a Strange Land
Slow Road Homep 7
I don’t have a job to go to and I don’t have a plan for what comes next.And yet, somehow, I am not as anxious about this as I would havethought I’d be.But I do feel guilty—as if I had skipped school. I pull back behind thecurtains when the few cars go by the house, lest their drivers, ourneighbors, see that I’m not at work on a weekday. I tell myself to relaxand enjoy being here while I can. This is not house arrest. It is notpunishment. It is an odd kind of time apart from work that might become more like an unplanned vacation between jobs—a strangevacation, I’ll grant you—just me here all day, every day. The placeseems unfamiliar, like a bed-and-breakfast, somewhere I’ve spentmany nights but not so many days. Maybe the next few weeks will bea sort of spiritual retreat, one novitiate and one big black dog in eightyacres of quiet sanctuary.My work for now is living fully in thisalien world, moving in a smallerorbit. This is a world not made ormanaged by man—a natural worldof cold creeks inhabited bymayapples and scarlet tanagers.This is a planet where I am learningto smell the changes as the seasonunfolds, taste the ﬁrst cup of coffeeunder stars before the sun comesup over the ridge, and enjoy thecomfort and companionship of thepup—blessings that persist even while some things have comeundone, for a while.