As I walked toward a large building and into work, the chirping birds caught my attention.
They sounded…strange.
Their chattering was echoing off the blindingly starched-white concrete to a place wherein their songs were distorted, high-pitched and cartoony. Almost like something you would expect to hear in a Disney movie. It felt artificial and for a split second, I imagined myself surrounded by a movie set, where the buildings are only one-dimensional and people behind the scenes are orchestrating my experience.
This was so unlike the place that I call home. The same home that in the moment seemed far removed, yet still offered an easy to touch memory of how nothing but rich reddish earth resides beneath my feet. At home, bird songs fill the days, and the sounds resonate straight through a person into that very same earth below providing a sense of oneness.
I make a mental note that concrete echoes as I continue my day.
I have been quiet here on the blog because of long workdays. I am not unlike the city birds wherein distance from the land that I love leaves me feeling distorted and only capable of writing shiny empty words - an experience I find so aversive that I would rather walk across hot coals poxed with crushed sharp glass that would leave my feet bloodied and burned.
Our home has been built and moved into, somewhat and well-enough. This has never been about the house, albeit a crowning achievement.
We had a smashing housewarming with upwards of a hundred people coming and going. Our friends and family freely roamed the sanctuary, spending time in Mom's newly built tiny pink library, walking the nature trails, and giving much attention to our little family of misfits which has now grown to include two hogs, four goats, four chickens, two rabbits, and three dogs.
While my workdays in the city are long, Paul matches me hour-for-hour between his own work obligations and keeping the sanctuary running. Rarely is he without a flake of hay, muck rake, or tray of the daily medications, lotions, and potions that are required to help our little ones who suffer from arthritis, eye and skin issues, and threat of heat exhaustion throughout our most recent heat wave. Mom probably outpaces us two steps to one, goes from sunrise to sundown, and tends to the sanctuary in ways we likely never would. We are all each uniquely exhausted, but we are doing exactly as we set out to do.
The sanctuary’s motto has now shifted to, winter is coming. Once again, we find ourselves preparing for a season of high winds, rainy days, and an inhospitable dirt road. Though it seems much too soon, I observe our dense forest trees begin to drop their leaves, unveiling a new kind of beauty we are only able to witness during the fall and winter months.
That alone, miraculously makes it all worthwhile.
With child-like joy, I eagerly wait for winter’s brilliant neon grass despite fully knowing that come spring, it will dry out and turn into angry weeds with burrs capable of threatening every sock that happenchance comes by.
The dichotomy of nature and this land is enchanting. Simultaneously, I experience a tranquility not captured by words and an unpredictable ferocity on the ever-present fringe.
Call me, captivated.
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