Heartbeat.  The sign of life.   The sound that beats in the chest.  The feeling of blood moving through the body. The knowledge that I am still alive.  After being touched with illness I am now more sensitive to listening for life. My life, your life, all life.

The cat lies on the bed, her fur slowing rising and falling.  Breath.  Life giving breath. Heartbeats.

Email in the in-box.  Facebook post and likes from friends.  Tweet counter increasing. RSS feed with unread blog posts.  Youtube new videos on the feed – a new woodworking video and a song I’ve never heard.  Signs of life from my friends.  Heart beating

I am by nature a watcher – an observer of life.  I can sit for hours and watch a sun set or a tide ebb.  It’s what I do: look for the signs of life in the world around me.

Perhaps I am just being overly sentimental this week.  Perhaps it is just the cold winter days and the lack of life in our roses.  Perhaps it is just …

Well something.

This week my daily rhythm has been disturbed by the office move.  My commute route has changed.  My daily office routine has been changed.  I am such a creature of habit that any change is disturbing – changing the sure and steady beat into unknown song.  In time it will settle into new familiar patterns.

Phone calls from my brother weigh on my mind – he’s having health problems again and  I need to see his doctors.  I don’t like the decisions we may have to make.

The anniversary of my mother’s death is approaching and another brother calls to make arrangements for all of us to visit her grave.

My mind is a bit disturbed this week by slower pulses of life.  It’s tax time and I’ve been spending extra time with paper work, budgets, retirement plans, wishes, dreams and desires.  Will there be time to do what I want?  Will I have the resources to fulfill my dreams?  I’d love to buy a bandsaw but the roof needs to be fixed.  Will I be able to do both?  Have I made the right plans? so many doubts trouble my soul.

Tonight I am tired.  I’d like to be lighthearted and joke around but my mind is fixed on listening.  What is it that I am supposed to hear?  What happens when there is only silence?

Some times there are no words to really describe a feeling.  Some times there is only the quiet and gentle life-giving breath filling the lungs.  Sometimes all I feel able to do is to listen for the heartbeat.

Till next week,
Andrew

PS. Here are a few more pictures Heather took of the fretwork clock I finished for my grandson.

My favorite shot of the clock.

This is the base of the clock

Clock sitting in a window.

Side view of the clock