“Nothing comes from nothing, nothing ever could” as Julie Andrews sang in The Sound of Music (oh my heart, go watch it), and middle seasons are more about designing than producing. Does this sound familiar, is this your season too?
Small is the new centered here in this seeding season.
I just eavesdropped on a man reading a letter to his friend on a tiny little plane, where the act of listening in can hardly be seen as inappropriate. We are seat belted co-captives for the next two hours and ten minutes. I can’t see him, but his voice carries.
I was learning to summon worth any time I’ve ever had to name myself instead of waiting for a title. Just like my mother. This week I was softly reminded of when my lessons began.
Taking out the taped up wooden box where my silver sleeps and opening it up last week made me woozy. It was too beautiful. Thanksgiving gave me the chance to put it to work, feeding people once more, but not before it took my breath away.
Sometimes the things that are carried in with the date make me feel proud, and those things I keep close like an heirloom handkerchief. April is full of them. The way we pat our chests and say, “I’m here,” when someone takes attendance, some April days tap my heart and wait to be received.
Tap tap (grief). Tap tap (remorse). Tap tap (hope).
31 days of frailty |MY FATHER