While the rest of humanity has writhed in the minutia of politics and world events, weather and sports, I am immersed in creating a new chapter. Life has taken some bumpy turns, but I am on the other side now and beginning to shake out the camera and pen.
I never stopped writing, and what I wrote may never see the light of day. It is done and now I move forward and commit once again to pursue who I am, not what circumstances are trying to define as me.
Yesterday I took the morning off from unpacking to go to the barn. I had not ridden Night in weeks and needed some “Equine Therapy.” True to form, she was happy to see me and we had an hour-long ride down the back roads and through the woods. Night was steady and calm. We took advantage of several chances to blast down the deserted trails.
Had my first kayak on the lake today. Friends had planned to come by for a paddle but something came up so I set out alone. It is a wide lake, lots of homes/docks/boats on our side but less across the way. There was no one else out. Though it was a cool 70 °, the sun and exercise quickly warmed me and I stripped off my layers. Two Loons popped up in front of me and I drifted quietly by. I love hearing their ancient calls. Last night the moon, though not full, was bright and clear. I heard the Loons eerie serenade from a cove across the water. They will leave in a month or so but for now I am blessed with their songs.
I have bright red apples on the tree by the patio. The poor branches are laden and threatening to snap under the weight. Never had an apple tree that I can remember. I’ve further burdened it with my wind chimes. After the night sounds fade, a slight breeze through the chimes reminds me that home is what I make it. Perhaps I shall read some of my journals for inspiration and comfort, now that they are unpacked and arranged by date.
The house in Trinidad comes to mind, though it was sparsely furnished when we moved in and we were given a ‘move-in kit” of sheets, towels and cookware. Awaiting the long arrival of our ‘stuff’ was torturous. On the other hand, we went to Jakarta with nothing. Having learned our lesson about shipping precious memories in the form of worldly goods, we arrived with little more than our clothes. When I left Jakarta, I had to part with collected treasures such as a Saté Wagon, a dug-out canoe, Roger’s collection of New Guinea poison dart blow guns, massive carvings and textiles…so many memories.
And so I start anew. Familiar art and touches of lives past surround me. Alice vacillates between confused and tired. Every day brings a little more sense of comfort.
Therapeutic Misadventures 