11 Books

It's official.
The semester has ended.
I have bid goodbye to all my friends who will flee the NW in search of colder, brighter, more familiar places.
I cleaned.
I threw things away.
Then, I turned in my writing portfolio for the semester, and kicked back with Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed before work.

On my way to work, I drove a longer, winding road.
Words bubbled up inside of me.
I pulled over, and wrote my first poem in years.
(I'm talking like 10 years, people.)
It's short and sweet, and completely necessary.

And then, I dragged the kids that I nanny to the library and swiftly collected 11 books.
Some Mary Oliver.
Some Rilke.
Some Ann Patchett.
And a few others that have been recommended to me over the last year.
(Plus 2 that I picked up earlier this week.)
13 books. I hope I make it through them all.

There are changes, afoot, dears. I can feel them stirring within me.
There is more peace within my heart, more hope within my soul.
Poetry, meditation, yoga and hiking. Connecting with friends I have neglected.
Being there for people I care about, even if I think I can't.
Renewing interests in alternative 'sports' (aka, pool), and taking time out.
Difficult, but necessary, conversations.

Soon, I will update you all on the creations of this last semester.
It was full of beautiful, invigorating, uncomfortable, and infuriating growth.
It was incredible.

I hope your days are bright. Surely they will be after this one (how I love Winter Solstice).



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