cloth.paper.string

new.

this spot has served me well over the years, but soon it'll go dark.  

i'm ready for a fresh start.  
a new format, a new space. 

a place for collected images, a place for stories.  and too, whatever else unfurls.

come visit here.

olive green. maryland.

a cabin.  in the woods.  next to a stream.  
everywhere, blossoms.  apple.  forsythia.  daffodil.  azalea.  cherry.  

everywhere, birds.  so much birdsong.  owlsong.  and other song.  of rain on a tin roof.  of banjo and washboard.  of dry wood popping and cracking in the woodstove.  of rocking chair and knitting needles.

everywhere, learning.  about how to bake bread on fire.  and how to scout standing dry wood in the rain.  and how to throw an ax and fell a tree.  

and i learned more about showing up.  and saying yes to this life of mine.

.....

and i finally met this dear, dear one.  yes, she really does wear red shoes.  yes, she's incredible in so so so many ways.  and when she asked me about joining habit again for the month of april, of course i had to say yes.

oak creek. sedona.

let yourself be silently drawn
by the strange pull of what you really love.
it will not lead you astray.

-rumi

confession

it's been well over a year since i mopped the kitchen floor.  i've swept and spot-mopped and vacuumed and washed the rag rug that runs the length of the countertop that gets the most action, but i haven't gotten down on my hands and knees and really scrubbed.

as i worked the worn maple floorboards this morning i thought of all the living that has happened here since the last time it was truly cleaned. this floor has seen dance parties. full blown temper tantrums. hunger and thirst and complete satiation. laughter and yelling. creation and frustration. joyfilled and heartwrenching conversation. sweat and tears. and of course, ridiculous amounts of food.

this floor provides the foundation for the heart of my home. i look forward to the living that it will witness and support in the time between now and the next thorough cleaning.

cacophony

a single sheet of ice
pushing to shore.
a cacophony
of breaking
of cracking
of piling.
until a shift of the wind
renders a calm
that rings my ears
with its silence.

(hear it here.)

(un)blocking

a mention
of a coat of arms
to protect
one's state of mind

plus

the continued
popping up
of imagined quilt blocks

just might equal

an unblocking of sorts

be here now

once again she reminds me.
be here now.

and too, today others remind me.  
to be here.  
without regrets. 

edge

she suggested we go somewhere new.  
and then led me to the edge.
when i pay attention i see that she does this every day, in every way.

december favorites: open wide the hymns you hide

bits woven into a whole

i've lived here over five years.  and at last, i am starting to feel at home.  i realized it as i looked at the nest i found while gathering greens last week. finally, the bits are coming together and within i am finding the whole.

there are other bits too...

...i'm holding gratitude for my parents.  for their recent trek.  for all of their help.  

...i can not get enough of this song.  and this one too. (okay, the whole album actually).

...i'm delighted to be spending another month over at habit.

...i'm thinking about winter wilderness adventure.  for four years they beckoned on the horizon, but i never visited.  soon this will change.

...i picked up the knitting needles again.  for another pair of these.  but bigger.  perhaps another pair of these as well.

tomorrow i'll make this year's solstice wreath.  the greens and such have filled the porch with their lovely piney smell.  for almost a week, these bits have been waiting.  waiting to be woven into a whole.