ritual

Sunday evening scaries came more easily this week, amidst the cleaning and laundry and putting-away of bags after a pair of days away.  We sat on the floor and talked and cried and worried together.  We drank the wine I got him for his birthday.

I woke early with the birds on Monday, just before the sun.  I am a morning person, just as I am a summer person.  We decided this weekend -- summer for me, winter for him -- that it might just have everything to do with being born into a season.  I was born in the middle of June, just after sunrise.

I woke with words in my head, words to pour out.  I woke to start the week with rituals -- a lit piece of palo santo in the dark, an open screen door, the drawing of blinds to watch the sun move through the sky, and words words words on a page.  

If there is meaning to be made of nearly two years of waiting, it's this -- I have become acquainted with and deeply aware of the person I am in this very moment.  There is a version of myself that existed before this time; there will be a version that exists after.  Nearly two years feels an eternity, and yet it will be the briefest of seasons (of versions).  

During our walks through town and drives through the mountains, we discussed intentions for the new school year, each of us hoping for more patience and grace, more time spent digging for the things we most like in our work, etc.  I hope to add this -- more mornings spent in the corner chair by the screen door with words pouring out like a song.