Trudging up the hill after a long day, tired and wanting only to take a snooze in the afternoon breeze, I hear voices lilting through the trees. Topping the hill I see several guides sitting on the stoop the tent platform makes under the tarp. I realize they have gathered out of sight of whatever guests might still be milling around down the hill. They apologize for invading my space (it is a perfect place to sit out of the dampness), and although I am slightly surprised, I am also pleased to have visitors. I open the camp chairs, hang up the hammock, invite them to hang out whenever they want. I lay in the hammock, gently swinging, talking, laughing, watching the afternoon sunlight dance through the bright green leaves swaying above my head, teasing glimpses of blue sky peaking shyly between lush branches. This is better than a nap!
I’ve been taking advantage of the beautiful, sunny, warm, dry Spring day by going through gear, packing for rafting season, and continuing the waterproofing project. There is always so much to do in these first days of spring. The yard projects are lining up and impatiently waiting for my attention. I am a busy little bee buzzing around my hive waking it up from its long winter’s sleep. So in the late afternoon with a large yellow hazy sun hanging lazily over the western horizon, I move the hammock off the porch into the yard. I lay there soaking in the afternoon warmth, legs dangling, swinging gently, sleepily watching the haze grow thicker slowly turning into a cloud bank. As the sun dips toward the ridge, the clouds close in and a chill air stirs the bare branches. Just for a while, the sun was warm, the birds were chirping, and I took the time to lounge, first hammock basking of the season!
Once and a while, I have trouble breathing at night especially when I lay down. A variety of reasons has been explored, but it pretty much comes down to indoor allergies (we do have 4 cats and a lot of dust). I was in moderate distress and trying to stay calm because having an anxiety attack over it just makes it even harder to breath. My husband suggested I go sit on the porch to see if the fresh air would help. Stepping out into the darkness, my bare feet curled at contact with the cold floor boards, goose bumps prickled my skin, and involuntary shiver ran down my spine, but my lungs and sinuses wanted the fresh air. The hammock stand was in pieces on the porch, so (after going back inside and putting on socks and a warmer outer layer over my pajamas) I assembled it, then dug my camping hammock and sleeping bag out of the car where I had put it earlier that day in preparation of spending the weekend in the Adirondacks. All curled up in the hammock, toasty warm, gently swaying, blending into the nightscape, watching the narrow strip of stars visible between the roof line above me and the ridge line across the way, listening to an audio book, hovering on the misty shadowy borderline between wakefulness and sleep, not wanting to let go into that peaceful oblivion because of the enjoyment I was feeling floating here in the hammock being relaxed and breathing.