Hello Again.
Family, rivers, rest, and what comes next.
This summer was a season of ripe plum, white peach, blueberries the size of dimes. Lakes and canyons we had never met, rivers that reassured and rewired. Every minute was filled with family. My sons astonish me daily with their growing independence, their unfolding intimacy with their lives. To watch them is like dawn spreading color across a darkened mountain face. Like orcas breaking the water for air. Like a painting taking form.
We traveled turquoise rivers and mountain roads that clung to cliff edges, crossed lakes where we lay for hours on driftwood, by car and ferry over wide stretches of sea. We are still falling in love with one another as we grow into new versions of ourselves, and I feel so honoured to have had the space to simply savour this.
Before taking a break for the summer, some of us gathered online for the last live event of the season where I spoke of threshold and the mapless place where the familiar falls away. The summer did not change this, if anything is gave space to magnify this place. To show me how it stretches and yawns across the pasture. How it travels through the body as fatigue, and disorientation. It arrives as unease, as ache, as pressure under the skin. It comes before words, before thought, before answers.
