Clenching my mug with vice-like qualitites, I raise the black liquid to my nose and inhale deeply. The intensity from the beans twinges my nose, raises my lids, and I release a audible sigh solidifying the moment as mine. At 9:15 AM, this is my third cup; however, this cup… this single cup… is the one I have been waiting for for 372 days.

Solitude.

No kids. No husband. Everybody’s away for me and where they should be.

Just me. My coffee. And where I should be… alone.

Allowing the faded mug to linger just at my chin, I pivot to the door leading to my garden and venture into the English countryside. My bare feet press into the stone patio, arcing against the cool slate. The fresh wisps of wind travelling from the moor, mingles with my coffee’s aroma and brings the additional twinkle of moss, sheep poo, and freedom. Again, I inhale the savoring sweet smells that have truly brought me from the brink, back to life. I never thought the smell of fresh manure could be so invigorating.

For two years, life had slowly drained the funny from my existence. Stress became my only friend. Although its form morphed between money, moving, homeschooling, pandemic, alcohol, weight gain, homeschooling, moving, depression, moving again, homeschooling again… it was always there. Stress. And the acceptance that I was lost.

Me.

Not Mom Sam. Not Teacher Sam. Not Wife Sam. But Sam Sam.

Worse, it was a loss that I had grown comfortable with and began to shrugged at. Not against. In turn, laughter died from my daily life.

But not anymore.

Perhaps it was the move to the countryside. Or stopping hormones. Or forcing myself to complete activities of my own interest. Or simply telling my kids NO, I am done. Or seeing light at the end It… but I noticed a change toward myself again. A kinder clarity after an eon of fog.

Taking a sip of my charging coffee, I float over to my hedge and peer into the field. A lone sheep lay blissfully amongst the heather. Her white fleece gently waves in the breeze and her beautiful black face nibbles at the surrounding grass. Her eyes are closed, ears down in calmness. I connect with her dark eyes and feel at peace with her. This place we have both unexpectedly landed. Of beauty, freedom, and time. Time to be and grow. To allow ourselves respite and map our next endeavor. But for now, we are just two girls, hanging out, having their morning coffee, alone.

Her ears prick-up suddenly. Her neck traverses in an tense upright position, eyes fixed, open, and slightly crossed. She senses something. An impending something. I know that something.

My eyes dart across the field, I feel her doom. My body tenses and I whisper through gritted teeth, “Stop eating. Get up. Stop, eating! They’re coming.”

Her head vaguely tilts at my warning, Yeah, I know I am crazy. Two small figures break against the green, blue horizon in silent persistence. Heads darting from side to side, searching for their prey. Mom.

“Quick, up, up… GET UP!”

The two white flashes buck down the rolling knoll, honing in on their target while simultaneously head butting, one upping, and egging each other on to see who gets to food first, until they unduly slam full body into their poor mother. The force of the two brutes lurches her face into the ground, eyes squinting in embarrassing pain. Her black legs flail, find their footing and stagger to form her foundation. Two snouts barbarically raid her udder and her neck sags below her shoulders. She knows. She knows, her moment has passed. With one last effort of reclamation, she turns and dashes toward open field.

My eyes flash in solidarity as adrenaline surges up my legs. Her pace increases to a sprint as mine begin.

Losing all control, I run down the hedge screaming, “Run, ruuuun! Don’t let them take you down! Go! Demand better!”

Hot coffee spewing onto my hand, I stop to watch her woolly rump disappear toward the creek and out of sight. Her two vultures in hot pursuit nipping at her legs.

Heaving air and fully pumped, I look down at my emptied mug. Yep, my moment’s passed too. Swirling the last brown drop around the mug’s bottom, a deep guffaw spills from me followed by heaping laughter and the realization that I have, actually lost it. Tears of circumstance, irony, and pure relief pour down my cheeks despite all attempts to wipe them away. I trudge back up the hedgerow giggling still, and turn toward the creek.

Eh, she’ll figure it out… we all can.