I know I will have to stop this counting thing, eventually. It is the middle of the day and I am sitting at my laptop, a fire smouldering in the wood stove, rain dripping off the trees, the forest haloed, hallowed in mist.
Awaiting a friend who has been the closest thing to Jesus to me, in this time of dissertation completion. Her experience as an arts-based researcher, her eyes and ears as a writer and painter, and her heart have been so full of generous support for my work. Thank you Lisa!!!!
It has been a quiet, busy few days. All this writing to a deadline makes the couch my day-bed as I watch the farm and its daily weathering through the living room window.
I did take the time yesterday to walk out on the farm. Hundreds of dark headed juncos were scattered about the yard looking for seeds and other afternoon nibblies. In the main vegetable garden rust bellied robins sang as they cavorted through naked cherry branches.
It felt like it had been a while since I had been still amongst the life here. There was a texture of silence, punctured with birdsong and creeksong and passing truck song, that moved right through every cell of my body. I became a cloud, a floating speck of dust. There was no me there, and everywhere was wondering, beauty, holy.
Then it was back to laptopland. Although inside these words I can still touch that silence and a presence, a wakefulness hushes worry, opens onto peace.