I have this feeling; I am awakening from a long enchantment, part winter’s last gasps in the deep calendar of Spring, part two years postpartum, (…or seven), part thirty-seven years since my own birth.
At any rate, time has been moving along in it’s swift, relentless way while we have been dealing with the waves of regular life with young ones and the irregularities of trips, illnesses and visitors thrown in to the mix.
The yard and, now hypothetical, garden are begging to be remembered, as are my drawing tools, my writing pads and correspondences. The yoga practice has been consistent, and therefore I am sometimes blooming, and the hiking is coming back into a regular cadence, praise be for this beautifully functioning body.
I woke up today and realized that I have an ever deeper network of beautiful friends here, in Santa Fe, more so even then I did in Boulder or Brooklyn where I treasure so many. Here, I am watching us lean into one another, asking for tangible help and receiving it, and suddenly we are celebrating life itself like we stumbled into a kick-ass party.
Yesterday, I spent the morning in our sandy, neighborhood arroyo with some wonderful mama friends and little toddler urchins. We howled at the sun and each other, scraping fruit from pyrex, digging bare feet into cool sand, laying back for precious moments of daydream and relaxation; the very arts I fear that I am losing.
Emerging from the carved earth, I was astounded again and again by the shades of blue brought to my eye. Increasingly, the colors of this land soothe me and move me, rusty oranges of earth turned homes and the lusciousness of the sky that is reflected everywhere, in painted house trim, hidden art and shiny old sports cars.
In my own unkempt yard, the Ponderosa shades my yellow café table and the emerging Irises. I keep watch over both, writing many words and pondering which to share and in what precise order.