Like an injured animal who has been holding ever-so-still in the dried grasses of late Fall, I have just begun to move. . . and this slight rustling in the grass betrays my movement.
An entire month-more than a month-I have been still. Time has no footprint when you're intent and I guess I was so busy doing, that I forgot to write about the doing.
I am OK. . . that's the gist of it. I have finished my semester, survived bouts of workplace toxicity and disappointment, pushed myself farther than I knew I could endure, lost a reenacting friend, and learned . . . always I learn. There are a few more pieces of childlike naivete lost as a result but always a dreamer, I will pull out more where those came from.
One more day at the company job and then I have a long stretch of real life, and life is good. As I sit here, there are musicians playing live music in the other room and I have a genuine smile creeping up from the safe place inside. There is a
rhythm guitar, a mandolin, a dobro guitar, a fiddle, and a lovely 3/4 Kay bass played by the most handsome of gentlemen. He is, of course, my sweetheart.
Sure, bad happens, but a whole lot of good does too. My tree is up, wreaths are sparkling, candles burning, and there are twinkling colored lights circling the front pillars as well as on the pergola in back and I am stirring. . . and smiling.
Oh! Gosh, they're calling for a spoon player and that would be me so I gotta move now.
Time to rustle some grass.
