I finally felt that I had landed somewhere. Suddenly, the nagging rush of needing to figure things out, decide what is next, move forward, was hushed, quieted, stilled, because sweet little worrier - it’s not time yet.
As you rose early each day,
placing fans in windows to call in fresh air,
you made space that held us…
Even as we slept,
we drank deeply from your wells of strength.
This is for my beloved daughter, Eloise, who would have been a fearsome girl to behold. This is for Clara Loise and Anna Louise, Emmy, Reagan and Frankie the fighter. And this is for the sweetest boys in my life who revere women and all of their girls-who-are-friends and give me hope every single day.
With my hands full of hope, I will take one steady step after another into the things we are choosing as we become again.
As I get curious about a fitting rhythm for life I have noticed that I crave physical work and mental work in similar doses. Interestingly enough, they are not in competition. Instead, they serve to strengthen one another.
That is the backdrop of these few lines in my journal. When I wrote them, the ending line was a reflection on my peaceful practices that warm autumn day, but it followed a reference to this amazing tree being cut down. With chain saws. You see, this tree was ravaged by a storm and it could no longer stand rooted in its solid ground.