a day in march
hello my dears,
i've been waking and saying, i am thankful for this one human life. may i love well today. because loving well seems to be the point, doesn't it? certainly the great ones have echoed that sentiment through the ages.
beginning this week, along with yellow sun days and patches of earth beneath the trees and along well-trodden paths, along with muddy boots and paws and lighter coats, along with more energy and more to do, i have begun tickling the roots of tiny plants, pansies, kale, lettuces. spending a couple days a week in the quiet and method of my friends' greenhouses. there are hundreds, perhaps thousands of green growing babes and pots and pots of rich, dank soil. it feels good inside to have my hands in that deep darkness. i like to watch things grow, dear maude says in my mind.
it's also so good to be with friends a bit more. we've been dancing and drinking and poem-ing and just plain coming together here in the valley. spring!
living right along that lightness and freshness is our process at home, with our family. tender times. samwell and i both walking with our fears and trepidations, our sorrows and grievances. i am doing my best to hold and accept those minutes, days, weeks when i or he does not want to be productive, disciplined, healthful or conscious. after almost ten years, my faith muscles are stronger than they've ever been.
the paradox of our human world is perhaps the tenderest and most bittersweet bite of life.
i hope you are walking towards the equinox with light and dark in each hand, singing.
i've been waking and saying, i am thankful for this one human life. may i love well today. because loving well seems to be the point, doesn't it? certainly the great ones have echoed that sentiment through the ages.
beginning this week, along with yellow sun days and patches of earth beneath the trees and along well-trodden paths, along with muddy boots and paws and lighter coats, along with more energy and more to do, i have begun tickling the roots of tiny plants, pansies, kale, lettuces. spending a couple days a week in the quiet and method of my friends' greenhouses. there are hundreds, perhaps thousands of green growing babes and pots and pots of rich, dank soil. it feels good inside to have my hands in that deep darkness. i like to watch things grow, dear maude says in my mind.
it's also so good to be with friends a bit more. we've been dancing and drinking and poem-ing and just plain coming together here in the valley. spring!
living right along that lightness and freshness is our process at home, with our family. tender times. samwell and i both walking with our fears and trepidations, our sorrows and grievances. i am doing my best to hold and accept those minutes, days, weeks when i or he does not want to be productive, disciplined, healthful or conscious. after almost ten years, my faith muscles are stronger than they've ever been.
the paradox of our human world is perhaps the tenderest and most bittersweet bite of life.
i hope you are walking towards the equinox with light and dark in each hand, singing.
k
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