the world is a playground

I have not been doing a very good job at blogging this semester. If you are a faithful reader, I apologize. Words are hard to come by and honestly, my thoughts are jumbled. I have far too much to say and not enough all at once. These days my mind muses over communication, truth, and honesty. I have been floored by how mediocre communication is what the world survives with (rather than thriving...)  - and only since living in this intentional community have I learned the importance of excellent communication skills. I am thinking often about speech and the weight of words, as well as what it means to listen well and genuinely care about what others have to say. (and not just listen to what you want them to say.) I am learning much about myself and the role I play in a community. Hopefully soon I will have more coherent thoughts and eloquent sentences, but for now - here's a glimpse of life lately:

(an excerpt after the della mae show)

In 5 chairs we sat in the corner enveloped in a sea of glorious music. Five women on stage crafted harmonies and pieced together sounds and instruments that fit into each other like the most perfect mosaic. My mouth consistently turned upward into a smile while my yellow boots tapped happily. 

The first snowflakes of the season accompanied the last song.

Life is so good. 

(scrawled after a perfect thursday slumber party, thursdays are the new friday.)

I awake on the porch, the air is brisk and I am snuggled up in a line of friends. As I stumble inside rubbing my sleepy eyes, Sam is already at the counter preparing to make breakfast for our tired guests. He makes coffee; I boil water for tea and pull the crepe batter out of the refrigerator. (left over from breakfast for dinner the night prior) Our friends come in one by one and we eat and wake up slow. After breakfast Claire, Sam, and I go for a walk. We stop to say hello to the swans before going to the secret passageway to the ocean. Claire loves it; Sam takes pictures. Time seems to stop as we scramble over rocks and listen to the crashing waves. I clamber to the top of the jagged precipice and let the autumnal breeze wash over my face. I stare intently at the white foam forming little peaks around the island and my mind drifts to Ernest Shackleton and 400+ days at sea. The sun shines down graciously as we scan the scene for treasure. My glance pauses on tidal pools; Sam finds 2 buoys while Claire hides rocks in her pocket. Just before we enter the path for home we find a see-saw, a log placed perfectly on a stone.

The world is a playground.

four days, and still my mind reels. 

driving between homes is draining,

yet satisfying.

the grey skies nestle snugly around the autumnal colors

brilliant red and vibrant yellows,

(the yellow leaves still last the longest.) 

to my right a black cat scurries in the grass.

beside me speeding,

a moving truck resembling a haphazard wagon

pulled by a hasty child.

three deer chew contentedly on a grassy hillside snack,

while many of their friends lie dead and cold inches from my tires.

The sky bursts in deep pink cotton candy glory,

swirled together with blissful strokes,

refusing to let the weekend come to a close without one

final reminder of beauty and goodness in this world

so broken.