Looking for Me in All the Wrong Places

I am trying to understand how a bit of land could feel so a part of me. Is it because just through those trees is where my father was born and where he and his three brothers caught frogs and buried treasures and gathered hazel nuts every fall for their mother to lay out on a roof to dry? And just a little further through the trees is the house my mom and dad built.

My roots go deep here on this particular piece of earth.

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I don’t Need You to Like Me . . .

I wrote this about a month ago. Unfortunately, I needed to hear it for myself today, so I am posting it now. Those who know me will understand.

A fresh week, a fresh day, and of course, fresh snow. Everything today feels fresh.

I have been thinking about the many things I keep inside of me without allowing full expression. At first I thought it was just the unspoken things, the sharp truthful stuff.

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Honoring the Creative After a So So Week

My head is tired of thinking. It really wants to just sink into some beautiful dandelion fluff and float off on the first breeze. I am longing for art, beauty, substance, soul. I can only stand to think strategy, planning, to-do and not-to-do lists for so long before the sweet child in me rises up and says, “But what about me?”

How I love that child. It hurts me to have her sitting in a corner, face to the wall, while “Mommy” works.

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