How to walk

just a walk in the neighborhood
one foot in front of the other
the dog's leash
entangle my thoughts
through dusky, glowtone grape cotton candy light
oh. my. goddess.
i say to myself
and all that matters
is that this feels good
right now
no matter life's mess
it matters 
that this feels good
right now
so i lean into the moment
tickled pink mixed with razzleberry
hold me in holy stillness
i lift my head . . . and walk



Headed into our first full week of our return in person to learning after our homeschool stint. N. is absolutely ecstatic to finally be with her fourth grade mates. All through our homeschooling adventures, N. would ask at bedtime, Why do the days go so fast? Thankfully, she still believes that the days go way too fast. An amazing sign that she is genuinely happy. Deep, relieved sigh.

Grateful to have kicked off our new year's transition, I recently facilitated a winter attunement mindfulness session with my good friend, Jenn, in Catalonia, and I am even more aware of how I have not paid enough attention to the emotions that the pandemic has pushed aside as we try to live -- in survival mode. Giving ourselves the opportunity to move through our emotions -- grief, anger, joy, and desire -- can be a most grounding gift of confidence. We danced our bodies as we felt called to do in the moment. Feeling my physical body let go in defeat, frustration, cheer and fancy was its own kind of much needed, non-judgmental freedom in year two of the pandemic.

As I work to find my new rhythm, delighting in the delicious quiet of my mid-morning coffee, I notice that it's taking me considerable time to settle down and settle in.

During my trek with the dog on the trail, I notice how the two recent snowfalls have

downed even the largest pine trees, so much so that there's a clearing through the woods. I busy myself hoping to get a glimpse of the deer family or the rusty fox who sometimes cross my path. Instead, part of the creek remains frozen, trunks collapsed, makeshift intermediate crossings for any wild turkeys.

What is exceptionally noticeable is the silence between the birds twittering and the clanking of the dog's harness against her leash, between each footstep that crushes on some patch of ice on the trail or the slightest whipping of the breeze as a runner sidesteps us in his way.

I notice the silence of this bearable winter morning as I try to delight in a moment of stillness without immersing myself in the drudgery of patiently/impatiently waiting for the under five vaccines, feeling for those in my circles with littlest ones or reading every obituary of every young person who has been killed by gun violence every month since the new year.

as i wait for the world 
to right itself
 let me weave in space 
for silent shavings
for truth to transude
that we might notice
the Light skim
through the thickset overcast
of bitter anguish