making fresh tracks…

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Strong storms moved through my heart over the holidays
and tossed around the landscape of my life
(or did storms batter my life and change the lay of land in my heart?)
Yes and both,  I think.
I’m fascinated always by the power of storm,
challenged by the change and re-arrange left in their wake.

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I remember heading back to the beach several times
after we’d had to evacuate for a hurricane,
in awe of how yesterday’s dunes were swept from the shore
and now mounded high against the faces of distant cottages,
and the large chunks of boardwalk that just days ago
firmly sheltered feet from sandspurs
somewhere far and away,
now splayed across the beach like dislocated elbows.
Roads washed away and new jetties carved into islands
…fierce,  sudden,  unexpected change.

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That’s where I find myself this cold,  gray January
and I’m buoyed by my curiosity
as I explore what still feels true
and what needs to be new
and there is something breaking out inside of me,
a yelp,  a roar, a whoop,   a howl,
and I’m making tracks across this fresh washed beach,
releasing the bellow in my belly for something braver,  wilder,  realer
rawer,  truer than I’ve walked in before.

And I’m glad for the wild winds
that knocked loose and jumbled
some of my nice,  safe,  stuck lines
and opened spaces for changes I didn’t know I was hungry for,
blew away the false and stirred my soul to dreaming
fierce and fearless and childlike again.

Whatever this new year brings,
I’ll be making tracks,  fresh and new
and building something solid,  free and true
(and,  always,  cheering hard for you:)).

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“Show me a day when the world wasn’t new.”
-Sister Barbara Hance

`

once upon a winter….

 

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I’ve been walking around in the woods.
A  lot.
Just tramping across the land on trails
because I can
and my heart is calling me.

My wintertime projects wonder what’s up with me,
where I go each day
and why I leave them unattended,
especially since I prattled on all year
about how much I couldn’t wait to hug their necks
once the hours turned gentle.

The walls still waiting for their fresh paint,
especially the ones I promised to un-paint,
seem to greet me with their hands on their hips
each time I burst through the door
with pink cheeks and dirty boots,
the dogs lapping water noisily and trailing dried grass and mud.

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I get it.
They’re in a funk over being neglected.
But  I lop off some sweet orange branches blooming crazy early
and set them around in mason jars
and how perfect is that?
And the blackbird feathers I’m clutching in my hand
I tuck into a pretty ceramic pot
and isn’t that just glorious?

And I need just a little while longer to work it out with my guitar
what I heard the wind whispering
and how warm the sun felt on my face
and how the water was going in every sort of burble and shoosh
you can imagine out there
and how I’m punch drunk in love with the wildness of it all.

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And it tickles like jazz to sit down and journal out my heart
on the one little bell I make at each day’s end,
just one sweet bite
with little room for words
and I did paint a bouquet of sticks one day
when an ice storm shut me in.
Yes, the walls still wait for their miracles
and the bathrooms and floors
and I’ll need to sleep with a heating pad again tonight

But can I tell you
that never has a winter ever
held more magic for me
and I’m holding it dear
like a snowflake in my hand.

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“We have only this moment,
sparkling like a star in our hand
-and melting like a snowflake.”
-Marie B. Ray

into the wild….

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I want more of this in my life,
to get offroad and into those fields and woods
I swoon over as I drive along busy
and heavy with gotta be somewhere else,
to put my feet into those rivers and wallow for awhile,
to follow a path and let the twists and turns in the trail
untwist some knots in me.

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I want to tramp unhurried through the forest,
to follow deeper into the woods an old stone wall
and maybe hear it’s stories,
to wander down a dirt road just because the sun feels warm
on my hair
and the sky has a blue about it
that moves me to feeling free
and there’s  nowhere in particular I have to be
just for now.

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 and I can follow
just because my heart is calling me.

I’m so hungry for this.
And so I’m going to slice off some thick
chunks of time this year
and see where the wild winds
may take me.
I’ll be sure to come around and share with you
what the woodlands whisper
I’ll be here every week
with wild and growing joy.

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“Night and day the river flows.
We are all canyoneers.
We are all passengers on this little mossy ship,
this delicate dory sailing around the sun that humans call the earth.
Joy,  shipmates,  joy.”
-Edward Abbey

(THANK you for continuing to come around even tho’ I don’t show up on google reader yet…..hoping for some resolution soon!)