it takes time to move into a new rhythm, and I think small people remind us of this so well. it's easy to rush about, to fill up the days (and nights), to get caught up in plans, to lie awake pondering, to frustrate at slow, unproductive days... it's harder to be still, to let myself stop writing a blogpost (this one) and chase my toddler around the house... it takes resolve to be kind to my body, stretch and swallow herbal tonics, get extra sleep, eat thoughtfully and not expect too much. every day we go on at least one long walk around the neighbourhood - the one I moved to as a seven-year-old and spent thirteen years growing up in - with my feet I remember it's hills and valleys, with my eyes I soak in the unleaving plain trees, the arabic shop signs, the constant movement of cars, people, squawking birds, with my ears I hear horns beeping and children playing soccer and wind rustling. I love it so well.

on our walks we often go to the station to watch trains chucka-choo under the bridge, we buy fresh zataar and visit a myriad of playgrounds and bushy outcrops. sometimes we visit my ninety-year-old granny and plant three kisses on her face, as is our custom; one on her forehead and one on each cheek. at home I am blessed with the baths and bedtimes my mama delivers so wonderfully to her grandson, I wear clothes that have long been packed away, I fumble stained pages of books I forgot I loved so well and read aloud in bed, I spend hours sewing, cooking, sorting, writing lists, embracing a new rhythm.