So I purposely haven’t written about the big event that happened at our house the night after summer solstice, when it is said “the veils are thin”. If you read Songbirds Amidst the Wreckage, then you might have guessed it. I can say that several changes have been made in my life since then but still I sense there’s something more. Maybe there’s a whole string of something mores. Until I can write a happy, expansive conclusion to that particular event, then I’ll write other things or quote some of my favorite people and maybe re-run a few oldies but goodies.
I’ll be out of town three times this month which is good because my inclination has been to curl up at home and stick with what is known and what is contained and unchangeable. Instead, I’ll stretch myself again into the nether reaches of this great country we live in. Ok, it’s only Pennsylvania, Portland and the Cascades but it is departing from the familiar comforts of home.
For now, I leave you with a poem from Mary Oliver. One of the great poets whose words leave an indelible ink stain on my heart.
May I never not be frisky,
May I never not be risque.
May my ashes, when you have them, friend,
and give them to the ocean,
leap in the froth of the waves,
still loving movement,
still ready, beyond all else,
to dance for the world.
Evidence: Poems by Mary Oliver