east west

the movement that i crave

and i'm thankful for seasons, in that they remind me that i'm ungrateful. i eagerly anticipate autumn - and then winter starts to blow in, i'm impatient for autumn to leave and woolen sweaters and evenings in front of the fire to become commonplace. and now the daffodils are so very much on the cusp of opening, and i curse the northern wind and the snow-covered mountains that seem bent on destruction. this will happen in june as i will summer to come more quickly than it likes to in the northwest, and then the cycle will be completed in september. seasons are much like the blue ridge mountains - underappreciated, completely used and abused.

i rise early now, early with the little one.

the western sky is dark right now - slate gray. the eastern sun is making its way over our roof to highlight the big-leaf maple in the front yard. it's covered with moss - utterly and totally covered - and it's beautiful. we tried to "grow" moss on our rocks this winter....i don't know what we were thinking, messing with functions of light and darkness like that.

very seriously contemplating a major change. funny how things we desire have a way of making their way to us, even when we don't make their way straight. i've made so many decisions based upon practicality rather than wide-eyed wonder. each time, i'd apologize to my sense of romance, but point to the checkbook or the mortgage as a rationale for my choice. but somehow, wonder really did win in the end. and though the idealistic part of me hoped this to be true, i still can't quite believe it.

something i'll hold to: mid-december, 5:30pm, it's dark. portland has recently received two inches of snow. the christmas tree is lit and the little one is fussy. i have him in the baby carrier, and we're waltzing around the house while listening to Over the Rhine. i hum to him, we're both calmed by Karin's voice. we sway in front of the living room windows and catch a glimpse of Peter outside, laughing, teaching the three neighbor kids how to build a snow fort. there's a fire in the fireplace and hot chocolate on the stove. and my cup overfloweth.

posted by jessica @ 9:03 PM