up the earliest this morning, the sun has barely started peeking above the horizons.
And the birds are already awake and singing.
Who do I say that I am?
This question weighs on me today in the same way it has for many years.
Did I ask that question when I was twelve ... or fifteen . . . or nineteen? I don't think I did because I did not understand the importance of knowing myself and possessing myself.
Thoughts are replaced by physical work. I cannot do both simultaneously. I dig up and move over twenty hosta plants.
We select and pick up the field stone for stepping stones up the pathway. I adore them and am so looking forward to planting something small and wonderful around them.
power struggles at play and mostly I am just too tired to engage.
A walk around the neighborhood makes me love my own little yard even more. It's soft and wild just like me.