distance and perspective

Flying into Maine

It's odd that one could be so afraid of heights and still enjoy looking out of a plane's window. Similar to being prone to seasickness and yet loving the water and especially swimming in it.  Dichotomies that don't keep me up at night but rather intrigue me.
When the sheep first left, I couldn't go down to the barn - or the garden for that matter - for at least a week. Even though it had been my decision to let them go, it was deeply painful for a while. Then slowly, I began to accept the change and to settle in to the new rhythm of life here without them.
They were small changes but they felt really huge. And, pivotal somehow.

People still stop me in our little town and ask about them, share how much they miss them. I miss them, too, but they became too much for me; to care for 13 sheep and do it properly became an expensive venture. A fun, little hobby that began with three rescued Jacob sheep back in the day grew into a passion and commitment that lasted almost fifteen years. So, when the day finally came and a new home literally appeared on my doorstep, I knew it was the right time. Off they went, later that very same day - and my life changed. And, I adjusted.
One close neighbor, who I adore, gently reassured me that I would always be known as 'the sheep lady' by locals. An honor.
I'll take it.
With the perspective that time and distance allows, I continue to learn life's lessons from the sheep - long after they've left the farm.