and so i sit here
in a different place
a different home and state
one i used to call home
still looking for my place

life going on
aging
not growing
not yet withering
but close
so close

waiting for life to begin

place~

I think I've spent my life seeking my place.
Never really quite fitting in any place.

I've lived in the desert,
I've lived by the ocean.
I've lived in the mountains,

I've lived in one of the biggest cities in the world,
and now I live with just a few hundred souls in the middle of nowhere.

But I still struggle with my place.



I struggle with who I am, no matter where I am.



Am I alone in this? Or is this normal?

I truly don't know.

Maybe I'm just crazy.
Or maybe it just doesn't matter.

I've carved out a life here with my family, with my land.  I've got my own business and plenty of work to do.  But I'm just not quite like anyone else here.

Especially not like the people born and raised here, their roots deep in this valley, tangled all up with one another.  I listen to the stories of their lives, amazed at how intertwined they all are.  You're still considered new here even if you lived here for more than a couple decades, and I'm not sure I can last that long.

But this I know, there is no perfect place, this side of heaven.

And so I must go on, and make the best of this place I find myself.



~~~
Joining in the April Prompts at ALM Writes.

coffee~tea

Morning dawns with the sounds of the birds awakening.  They start singing just before the first light.  It takes me a bit longer.

Sneaking down the stairs trying so hard not to awaken anyone else, I make my way to the kitchen.  I turned the stove burner to high under Grandma's percolator I fill the night before.  As I wait for it to boil and brew, I read a bit, reply to messages and try to wake up.  I love my morning coffee.  The scent of the perfect blend of white chocolate, hazelnut & cinnamon fill the kitchen and I know it's ready then.

As much as I love that morning cup of coffee, the rest of the day is given over to tea.  Lots of tea.  Tea in every flavor imaginable is brewed here.  From the usual Earl Greys to Chocolate Rose to Summer Pudding Teas and Jasmine Teas I love them all.  Nights see me sipping Mint Tea, or my Sweet Dreams Tea.

We have tea parties all the time and each afternoon for Quiet Reading Time I pour a cup of  tea, grab my book and try to pretend I am alone in the universe.  It's short-lived, but better than nothing.  Somehow, just having that cup in one hand and a book in the other seems to make the rest of the day easier, whatever comes.

Living where we do, we have neighbors, friends and strangers drop in all the time.  I keep the coffee and tea carafes filled most days so I can easily offer someone a cup of hospitality.  It's such a part of life and love.  Won't you join me for a cuppa?


 ~~~

Joining in the April Prompts at ALM Writes.

blue skies

nothin' but blue skies~~~

Her eyes are as blue as the sky on this spring day.
There is a light and a hope found in her smile.
For she sees the world open before her, waiting for her to awaken each day and run wild in it.

She knows little of skies not blue, little of the greyness of life.
She lives free, free as the birds she loves to laugh at and sing to.

She is much like a bird, flitting and dancing from place to place, always with her own song in her heart and pouring from her mouth.

She was in her element today, hiking through the woods with me.  Her joy evident at the early spring wildflowers, the first butterflies, her dancing around the field with her sandwich and singing her songs.  Later she flew into the sky on her swing, then on her hammock.  I think she even flew in her mind with the kite she held for the first time as it danced across the blue sky. 

She chased chickens, climbed hills so tall to her little self, gathered eggs with me, chased her brothers and simply exulted in the perfect day it was.  Now the blue of the sky is darkening as the day melts into night.  She's in bed now and I wonder what she'll remember of this day and what she'll dream of as she drifts off on the cloud of her pillow.

I'll remember the joy of holding her hand as we hiked, of carrying her across the creek, of finding the perfect pine cone together, of her sweet kisses and that little dimple on her cheek and all the love that fills our hearts, and how her hair glinted gold against the blue sky.


Joining in the April Prompts at ALM Writes.

beauty is...

Tossed into the pile of things at a sale.
Given for free for I laughed when I saw it.
Its picture the image of my home as it once was.

It's just an old cracked cup.
Doesn't even have its handle any more.
But even in, or maybe because of, its brokeness
I see what its beauty is.

I hold it in the palm of my hand, warmed by the sunlight streaming upon it.
I close my eyes as it rests there and I wonder.

Who held this cup?
Filled it up to offer another?
Taken out onto her back step to watch the morning sunrise over the hill thinking upon the work to be done?
Or on the front porch to sit and relax and watch that same sun set at the end of another hard-working day?

For this place, this life is work.
Endless work.

But there is beauty.


Sometimes it's easy to glimpse what beauty is
gazing across the valley,
or across the pond.
There's a flower,
a bird,
a smiling child,
the words on a page of a book as dear as a friend that bring a smile,
spreading beauty.

Sometimes it's hard to glimpse what beauty is
amongst the loneliness,
the isolation
of this remote valley
filled with people
amongst whom I just
don't
seem to fit.

So I plant another flower,
call to my chickens,
smile at my child,
or pour my own words
onto paper
onto screen
hoping I can spread beauty
so another may see
what beauty is.



~~~~

Joining in the April Prompts at ALM Writes.