Last week, I got an email from someone I haven't spoken to in more than five years. I can't remember if I was even dating my Husband the last time I spoke to this person. We had a lot of catching up to do.
Every time I tell someone about Hubby, and our relationship, I fall in love all over again.
Weight settles on my shoulder. The slight bite of talons reaches through cloth to touch my skin. Later, I'll find thin scratches where they shifted. As wings settle against feathered body, I turn my cheek into the warmth. Delicate and soft as satin, with texture like brocade. The smell... Is warm milk, old straw, and the dusty scent of tree bark.
Seriously? Seriously. I feel bad for the kid and all, but I have a larger problem, here. This 'Watch List' is supposed to keep us "safe," whatever that means, but all it takes to bypass it is a misspelling? Seriously? What, exactly, is the point in keeping a list of names? And, if you were smart enough to hide a weapon, wouldn't you be smart enough to change your name?
I... I mean, I just... I'm speechless. Lets all change a few letters in our names and really fuck with "security," eh?
In the fall, I brought up to my husband the possibility of starting a garden in the front of our house. We don't use half of the lawn space, and the grass needs replanted anyway. I am not a fan of grass at it's best. Our lawn does not represent the best.
I had done some reading on kids and gardening. Keeping plants alive has never been something I'm good at. I would love to learn along with my son, and find something we can do together. I look at it as a teaching opportunity. And it's not just the physical sowing and weeding, it's about being outdoors. It's getting in touch with the earth, and away from all the technology that eats up our time and happiness. Together, perhaps we can learn something of patience, and the joy of simple and slow.
I've thought about it all winter. To avoid the hassle of digging, we'll put in a raised bed. Sometime early in February, we'll go to pick out seeds. I'm looking forward to this. It's one more step away from the frenzy, and into the steady world I aspire to. One more calm creation.
I wander through words about cloth and time, and I am inspired. Not because the objects are beautiful, though they are. And not because the writing is done well, though it is. There is a sense of peace in spirit that travels through everything these people send out to the world. There is a lack of self-importance. Simplicity.
Simple technique, executed with care as well as inspiration can create the world's coveted art. Simple ideas, passed freely with love, can heal the wounded soul.