Breath Wreath

A day lived in one slow inhale

I set the alarm for 6.
To make the wreath.
I had sketched it the night before
limited elements,
bulky, generous, full,
spiced, steady,
quietly mindful.
A circle shaped from scent and intention.

Eucalyptus was essential
that powdery, grounding aroma that opens the lungs.
Chilli was the spark
heat inside the calm.
On paper everything rested perfectly.

But morning had its own plans.
Instead of touching the wreath,
I sat with my son.
A deep conversation flowing
from last night into the early light.
He needed more.
So I stayed.
Dropped the kids at school
and stayed a little longer
until the weight in him loosened.

Only then, on the drive home,
I returned to the wreath.
Hands quieter, mind softer.
Halfway through, a message from my manager
the day shifted again.
Be at the shop from 11 to 2.

It was around 9:30
when I drove north to deliver the wreath.
Phone calls in between,
reshuffling errands,
trying to hold the rhythm of the day together.

But the wreath…
the wreath anchored me.
The making, the scent, the textures
I wasn’t anywhere else.
Just breath and hands.

I played my favourite song in the car.
Inhaled.
The scent of the wreath filled everything
the car, my chest, the whole morning.
A breath wreath.
Exactly what I needed.
I called the school to check on my son,
still wrapped in eucalyptus and chilli.

At the stall, as I hung the wreath,
another meaningful conversation unfolded
mirrors appearing everywhere today.
Then I drove to work,
breathing again,
this time with an empty passenger seat.

Deep breaths for 30 minutes.
A little late.
A little stressed.
Breath.
Rushing to the lift.
Arriving.
The familiar store scents met me
warm, calm, grounding.
Filling my lungs with stillness.

Up the ladder,
filling shelves,
finished.

Then the kiln
loading the workshop gems.
Then school pick-up
late again.
Breath.

Breath without wreath.
The rest of the day
moved in the same quiet rhythm.
One long inhale,
one long exhale.

Breathing through all of it.