But. Last week I finally felt the first little tugging at my fingertips, itching to write a few words. I sat at the computer and looked a blank screen for about 10 minutes. Yesterday I wrote four sentences, erased them, and wrote four more. I read them, re-read them, erased them, and logged off. Today I have managed 11 so far, and I'm still typing, so maybe. I think maybe once I get going I may not be able to quit. We'll see.
Today I'm just going to ease back in, slowly.
We moved.
Whew - that was tough. I wrote and re-wrote a six paragraph explanation, but really I can simplify it down to just two words. We moved. We left the farm, our little oasis from the real world and moved into a vintage fixer-upper on the lake. I'm not sorry, at least not yet. On paper, this was a very good decision. Four blocks from school, snuggled into a quiet street with amazing neighbors, we have a sandy beach walkout only a block from the park and the Dairy Freeze. I'm not sorry - the kids ride bikes, go fishing, build sandcastles and play with friends and we aren't in the car for an hour every day. I really like the house - it needs some work, but it has amazing potential.
Sometimes, though, someone peeks into my soul and asks, "But how could you leave the farm? You seemed so happy there..."
We were happy there. We were. And we will be happy here.
Last night I couldn't sleep. I walked out to the beach and curled up on the sand and watched the water lap against the shore line. Within a few minutes I felt an easing in my shoulders. I breathed deeply the green smell of the water and I wished I could find words to bottle the moment. This morning, this poem popped up in my daily Poetry.com feed, and I see that once again the world is speaking to me.
The Peace of Wild Things
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free
