Speechless

Sometimes... there are things that occur, that I have no words for.  I have no understanding.  There are no words to make it ok, there are no words to soothe, and so I am met with silence.  I have nothing to say that would matter, and tonight I am more grateful for silence than I am for explanations or excuses.

I am grateful sometimes for failure when I can't understand the cracks.

Wide Open Spaces

Winter always gives me cabin fever.  I feel compacted, reserved and bound.  My soul becomes restless with the starkness of the days, the lack of light, and the frigid air.  I find myself dissatisfied with the complacency of every day life, the mundane bleariness, the Earth lacking color, lacking scents, and blooms, creatures and friendly songs.  It's only January, with months of this season ahead, and we have been blessed with a gentle, warm winter thus far.  I fear the wanting of spring will be met with wrath, and Mother Nature and I shall do a dance of wits.

I crave warm breezes and fields; my soul yearns for wide open spaces.  If I close my eyes, and breathe deep, I can almost take myself where a tree stands, tall and strong.  It bends when it needs to bend, and stands strong, rooted deep.  I can see the clouds whispering across the sky, painting tales for dreamers.  I can feel the tall grass brushing across my legs, I can see for a mile in every direction.  The wind is at my back, breaking over a ridge off the river.

My day dreams shall carry me through the stark winter, and take me to spaces where my feet can feel the Earth.  They will take me to a place where the smell of leaves, and fields, and flowers fill my senses.  And in my dreams I will crumble the soil in my hands, reacquainting myself with Earth, and give to it gifts of growth and life.  My nights will be filled with sky dances on moon beams, and summer rains, freshness and light.

This is my place where the world is right, my soul is free, and even in the recesses of my mind, there are wide open spaces. I am grateful for daydreams, and wide open spaces.

Coming Home

One of the trickiest things about divorce is the requirement to share the things you have an undying mutual love for.  It's not always hard, but it's not always easy-peasy.  After seven years, I am skilled, but certainly not a master.

My kids have been gone since Boxing Day.  That's exactly seven days, and that's exactly my limit before missing them becomes too much for me.

I got a message from them at 12:03 this morning, wishing me a Happy New Year, and I cried tears as the New Year rang in, as missing them was beginning to consume me.  I waited all day for them to come home, anticipating hugs and kisses and smothering cuddles.  And when they walked through the door, my gratitude level was like the strong man hammer ringing the bell at the fair.

I am grateful for my kids coming home.  I am grateful that we missed each other, and I am grateful for the sleep we shall all have under one roof.

I miss my kids when they are gone, and I am grateful for them coming home.

I didn't even mind playing Uno for two hours, most of the time loosing to my daughter.  In fact, I enjoyed every second - because we were home.