I retreat to the Monastery-at-the-End-of-the-Universe - my home.

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The trees outside are swaying. The rain patters down. Bright new leaves glisten sweetly in the ozone saturated air. It’s a gentle spring rain, peaceful and beautiful, though it might change at any time. It might become violent later. It doesn’t matter. Whether gentle rain or full-blown storm, the comfort of being inside remains. The beauty of nature is best appreciated when you’re safe from its furies.

I suppose this notion comes from my spirit-animal, the turtle.

I prefer observation to participation. It’s safer, and you can see more when you take no part in the Sturm und Drang all around you. I see all I care to see through my window, or my TV screen, or through my computer. I wasn’t always a recluse. Once, I too, rambled about making trouble, getting in trouble, occasionally doing good.

I’m done with all that.

I limit my trips outside to my deck and bi-weekly excursions for supplies. I put off going for supplies for as long as I can. I’ve a little of this and a little of that left, maybe tomorrow. When I finally do go for supplies, my reluctance proves sensible.

Too-tightly-wound people are everywhere. I see them in their cars, rushing to imaginary important destinations, their hands clutched frantically on the wheel. Cutting each other off, blowing through yellow lights, all for reasons that exist mostly in their heads. It’s no better inside the stores. So much impatience and anxiety.

They think it normal because they’re inside the melee. From beyond, I see it as madness.

TV reveals the madness as worldwide. From news shows to nature shows I see little else than creatures, human and otherwise, earnestly chewing each other up.

I retreat to the Monastery-at-the-End-of-the-Universe – my home. It’s calm and quiet inside. Only the adventurous long for the outside. Bless them all. Someone has to make the world go ‘round. I’m grateful it isn’t me.

Snowy days are as comforting as rainy days. Both keep strangers from my door. I can sit in warm seclusion and enjoy the falling snow with no more interruptions than those I choose: reading, writing, music - the delights of civilized life.

My friend, the Lady Tallahassee, is beside me, a glass of bourbon is in my hand, a swirl of sweet smoke rises from my excellent cigar, why would I want to roam?

Lady Tallahassee and I stare at the blowing snow in tranquility. Outside, drifts

of snow cover the driveway. No matter, We weren’t going anywhere, anyway.

We are content.

It’s enough.

We are sheltered from the storm.

By K. L. Shipley