Coming home

It has been a long time since I have visited this place. Sitting here in quiet with space and time carved out to write — it is coming home to myself.

Life has simmered and stewed its witchy brew in past months: another dog lost, dead on the roadside; children struggling; unmade decisions wagging insistent fingers; me barely managing, some days, to stagger through the day and feed the children.

Here are some things that have kept me from flying into a million scattered pieces during dark times: the love of my parents and family, blessed village; the gratitude list, jotting down thanks on even the worst days; the walks in the woods and views from my windows; the stories of hope and inspiration (thank you Queer Eye); the time I’ve spent in intentional family time, working or playing together .

One day a couple months ago, I had a couple of blessed hours to myself and opted for the woods. I hiked out into our Hundred-Acre woods and found magic everywhere I looked. I left home with lip balm, a tiny notebook, and my cell-phone camera in my pocket.  That day, I wrote:

Dazzled by the February light draping itself over my shoulders,

I wander dazed by beauty through the woods,

stumbling

so loudly and clumsily

that I flush the hidden creatures .

A huge bird beats wings heavily upward

from the eastern shore of the swamp,

lifts itself up and over the swamp to safety.

Birds chatter wise warnings

and all the sounds are music

and the creatures are the heavenly host.

They go about their business,

and I go about mine,

walking wonderstruck through the woods.

 

Wishing you, today, a moment of beauty to carry you through the dark. Wishing you the joy of coming home to yourself.

I am glad to be home.

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