This spring something both rested and awoke in me. The streak and push of creativity I had been experiencing was drying as I moved from my cave to the out-of-doors. My energies and thinking-spaces were being tapped by planting season. But instead of being scared that the creativity might not return, I was being formed into a new shape. There are seasons and cycles to our lives; a time for gathering seeds, preparing the ground and reconnecting to the created order, a time for nurturing, protecting, growing and revaluating, a time for pulling, yanking and composting life-choking weeds and of course a time for harvesting. There is a rhythm setting in that measure itself not by things accomplished but by discoveries made. I love the flow of the day, awaking to birds, the sun beating down my windows, the breeze flowing over my face. I love to sip my coffee on the back porch, surveying, planning, resting, praying, dreaming. I love counting the tasks for the day ahead: today– go for a walk, put up brackets for floating row covers, water the squash garden, pull weeds for the chickens to eat, set up the sprinkler for the kids. I love the conversations over the fence, the seeds gathered from time spent with living things not stagnant interiors or silent walls. I love finding shelter from the sun near the chicken coop where life is slowed to bugs gathered, naps taken and pecking orders established. I am sinking deep into this pattern and its borders feel right and fitting, like a shape I was meant to fill.
This rhythm feels like home.