We have a table and chairs. We sit around it and the six of us have plenty of room and our hands meet together at the perfect distance when we pray. I finally found all my fall stuff in a box marked Christmas and I filled a grocery cart full of pumpkins for the front porch. Now it's starting to become my house. Though sometimes I still look out all these windows and walk these floors and see the new furniture and it feels like I'm in somebody else's house. The pumpkins bring me back.
This beautiful place where we live, so alluring to photograph you'd think I'd take a zillion pictures and sometimes I try, but so often it just does not translate. I'm not sure if it's my camera or my peace of mind, but I think if I can't capture it exactly then I ... don't.
And I face this with my words. I think in the past what I've written was true, but writing about it shined up my life, what really happened. At the time it made me feel better, less crazy, happier. Saved me. I don't know how long this will last, but it seems I've arrived at a spot of time where the days move easier without the need to write myself a lifeline. Am I on pause or moving forward? Drifting along? Not sure. I'm just going to go with it.