Settled

It has turned out to be sweet day. One of the plain, simple good ones.
I took my little walk but I didn't push it hard, there was a post card from Rome waiting for me at the Post Office and I came home and I made up bread dough and set it to rise and I washed clothes and hung them on the line and I cleaned up the kitchen and took some Ibuprofen and had my lunch and laid down for a little while and read and rested and slept.

I woke up and went out to my office and pulled up an old novel I wrote five years ago but which has never been finished and which I cannot seem to just discard and I began working on it again. It was a novel which I began in spite and in anger and in frustration and in jealousy and it has all of that in it as well as something else which arose from the writing, completely unplanned and it's more that part which calls to me still, after all these years.

Anyway, bliss to write in my office, to consider words, to add, to delete, to change, to accept. The world disappears when I do that. I consider this to be a good thing.

When I walked today, I took a picture of what I have come to call the falley-down house.

I wrote about it five years ago, HERE. 

Still one of my favorite posts. 

And the old little house still stands although I can't quite see how. The leaves on the rusted roof must be heavy, especially after a rain, the trees are growing into it, the vines are pulling it towards earth where eventually it will lay in pieces. 

What is it about an old, abandoned place which catches our attention, which holds our eye, which sends shivers through our imagination? I do not know but this little place does all of that for me.

Well. The grouper is thawed, the cucumbers and onions are sliced and are resting in their vinegar and soy sauce bath, the artichokes wait to be trimmed and put into the pot. We will feast tonight. 

The boys are coming tomorrow and then again on Friday and my life will change again, as it does, and I suppose that in living with such changes, I am preventing the trees from growing into me, the leaves from gathering on my head, the vines from clinging and pulling me to my eventual meeting with the earth. 

This, too, is good. 

The bread is ready to come out of the oven. I feel a certain rightness, a sense that all is as well as it can be, that all is at it should be. And it is very, very good. 

Night, y'all. 

Love...Ms. Moon