1. The last of something. In this case, teaching my last weekly yoga class. Is it the last one forever? I don’t know. But forever lives in now. I’m really feeling this last something.
2. The day after this last class, I am aware of some opening. It’s not grand, doesn’t feel like a doorway or portal, is not earth-shattering in any way. The opening I feel is like a parting of something thick, maybe soft. I think to the (one) time I made jam, how a test of doneness is to spoon a puddle of jam onto a cold plate and run your finger through. If it’s ready, your finger leaves a clean trail behind, there is a parting of jammy goodness. The opening I feel is kind of like that.
3. My husband and son both go on trips, and return home. I’m glad to have them back.
4. A string of less hot and less humid days, which is to say, mild. This mildness colors my mood, lightens my heart, invites bonus walks and innumerable happy sighs. I love lots of things about summer but sometimes summer is just too much. This string of mildness has fortified my summer-shy spirit.
5. Two illustration assignments completed. I learn so much each time I make something new, am both frustrated and thrilled as I stretch myself through the awkward phases – the beginning, the middle, the end — in essence, all of it. It’s all awkward (yet also familiar). I notice how I feel, note what brings me joy. Underneath all of it (and I do mean All), I am keen for joy.
6. I pull a card, raccoon. A card for curiosity, discovery, duality. I prop the card on my desk, feel the truth of its message reflected in my now (in my forever). I am swimming in a world of ideas, am beginning to set things in motion, am pulled toward simultaneous action and stillness. And isn’t this the way after all – a little of this, a little of that? Both, and??
7. Driving home one evening, I point out the moon to my daughter. It hangs low in the early evening sky. A soft almost-pink, almost-full orb. She (the moon) is forever and now, manifest. She is cycle. I might argue the same for us all.
8. The first of our grape tomatoes come in. They are sweet and delicious. A friend gifts me tomatoes from her garden. They are large and sweet and juicy, also delicious. I am spoiled by the spoils of summer, and kind friends. Once again, my summer-shy spirit is fortified.
9. Weeks ago, I request books from the library. The books seem to arrive all at once, a boon of wordy goodness. I hope to get through three cookbooks, end up trying just two recipes. I read two of the three novels. For a few weeks, the cookbooks sit on the kitchen counter, the novels rest at my bedside, then I take them back. The wordy boon has become overwhelm.
10. If I walk early enough, I catch sight of the foxes, a mama and two kits. It’s funny how much they delight me. Sometimes, if it’s cool enough, my daughter and I walk after dinner and catch sight of them then. My daughter is equally delighted. How can you not be delighted by a family of foxes??
Your life is the poem.
~ Naomi Shihab Nye ~
p.s. come write + reflect with me…
creative lists — Just Five Things, September 21 - 25
writing circle — Write Your Heart, September 8, 15, and 22
a friday list — Good Things, every Friday
The moon, the foxes, the books ... A delicious jammy opening up 🩷 summer.
love love love love that you are here. yesss!!!!!