The week is not quite a blur, but close.  It’s full with yoga classes and the start of a freelance writing project.  I do not clean the bathrooms except to wipe the sinks.  I manage to get the laundry done, including sheets and towels.  I do a quick sweep of the downstairs floors but leave the dusty table tops and shelves.  Dinners are cooked, hugs are (always) given.  It is enough.

The heat is intense for a few days and then it rains.  Dark clouds in one part of the sky, a wee bit of thunder, that delightful mix, for a moment or two, of downpour and sunshine, simultaneously.  Weather, weather, weather.  I think about weather often.  Sometimes my husband will teasingly ask me if I really want to talk about the weather, or if I’m just making small talk.  Yes, I really want to talk about the weather.

My cyclamen are blooming.  Still, again, and thankfully.  The succulents are doing well too, the snake plant, the pothos, my sweet, little, just-brought-home peace lily.  These dear plants are counting on me, so I will try, oh I will try.

I find my way to the pages of my journal.  On the days I’m not there, I feel a little empty spot inside me.  Or if not a spot, then a wave, a whoosh, a marking of some sort.  That is to say, I feel off.  So I find my way back, and feel more even.

Throughout the week, I am greeted by smiles and asked thoughtful questions and offered tender stories.  As I drive my daughter home from her summer job, we talk about such interactions, such connections (she has had one of her own at work), the way they are gifts.  I tell her that, as she gets older, she will be graced with more and more of these.  I tell her it’s one of the wonderful things about being human.  She is quiet but I feel her listening, she is beginning to understand what I mean, and I think what a gift to witness this piece of her becoming.

I am prone to tears lately, these drops of salted water pooling in my eyes, these watery pieces of me seeking release.  I do not feel sad or troubled (except when watching the news), these watery bits glue me to a moment: the lone dandelion in the sea of green, the peaceful yoga student, the ethereal line of poetry, the word exquisite, the knowing that I am very much exactly where I am meant to be and how it feels like some things have fallen into place effortlessly, except I know that there has been love and iteration all along, and how everything feels very spacious and very yes-ish, and so I let the tears come and I bow my head, to everything and all.

You’ve been put on the world to love the act of being alive.
~ Ray Bradbury ~

P.S. Registration is open for June’s The Quiet Page. We’re looking into Rest.
I hope you’ll join us for some writing, some community, some rest/meditation.
Click here for details and to sign up.

P.P.S. It’s the first Friday of the month, so Barbara and I are sharing a mobile photo + quote!

16 thoughts on “exquisite

  1. Good morning dear friend,

    These words fill my heart this morning…especially that last paragraph followed by the quote that will be added to my ever-growing list of lines to live my life by. Thank you for sharing these moments.

    ~ April

    1. So lovely to see you here, April. I’m happy to know these words resonated for you; thanks for letting me know. That quote, right? Slays me every time.

  2. lovely post! I have been feeling off too, but maybe I’m being led in a direction unfamiliar to me. It’s uncomfortable, but I’m trying to stay the course. Hope your sailing along too.

  3. Deliciousness to find your light waiting for me to read. Thank you dear one for blessing us with you gentle, love filled wisdom. Sending you a hug. Love you.

    1. aw, thank you, Jane (now there’s a smile on my face). I appreciate your kind heart (YOU) so much. and I wish I could send a cyclamen to you…or better yet, drop one off and and share a cup of tea!


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