Big wheels keep on turning

I live in a town surrounded by windmills (98 of them, in fact). My walk from my house to day care to campus is entirely in the older (i.e. "has trees") part of town, so I don't see the windmills constantly. I was unaware that they were part of my sense of home until last week. For at least three days, two of them pleasantly windy, all of the windmills were stopped. It disturbed me. I felt off-kilter. There's something surreal and disquieting about looking out at a horizon dominated by stationary windmills as the wind gusts around one's skirt.

The windmills are turning today. All is better.

So it goes with the rest of my life as well. I haven't figured out a time to sit down and post book reviews or how to keep the kitchen clean when opening the dishwasher is a Dianthus magnet, but things are settling down. There's a pile of quizzes to grade, a front yard to make into a flower garden, and blank taupe walls waiting for art to be hung. Nothing is caught up. It will never be. But Dianthus is walking, the Mister and I planned multiple weeknight meals when we went grocery shopping, and we're almost through the hideous chemistry part of the semester. Wheels keep turning.

Image from travelpod.

Much as I like CCR, by the way, the Tina Turner version of Proud Mary is now my favorite. "Big wheel keep on turning, Proud Mary keep on burning. Rollin'. . ."