I went camping to soothe my soul: Thoughts, Final Harvest Moon

I walk a lot on empty beaches.  It helps me breathe from muscly places in my belly that otherwise I can’t feel because they’re so deep. So last Monday I guess it was,  walking along the roiled and wilen coast, beholding the brown and black and steel greys of Hurricane Maria’s deeps, there came this…

Oh Hobbit House.

Oh blessings on this gift, which is my hand-made life, woven together of benediction and surrender, embracement and loss…Oh I look around this morning and give such thanks.

New Moon: She takes up pen, again.

It’s been a million days of this I think, and as I write such words I see the gray slant of my ceiling in the morning, the days leading up to, but especially following,  Aunt Mary’s death.  Grief, which sits like a bone in the air. Its smooth, cold, calcium-yearning.  Always there, blocking the place…