tracks

the sun came today, brought the warmth and i tried to harvest the gift. i have to do things around the house that i will have to do again countless times, but i dont mind. i have an established burn pile in the back, ready to be lit. soon. trying to find my purpose. mother. friend. companion. career? cook, harvester, manufacturer. dreamer.  its just too hard to put it into words. i feel like i haven't been given permission until recently to figure any of this out.

necessity is the mother of invention.

i hope to see an old big table, in the top floor in my barn, (which currently has hardly any steps up to it and houses wendy bird, resident vulture.) a giant wall with fabric scraps, old pages from books, a simple photo of my daughter's sad brown eyes and a giant rug with turqoise in it. pillows made of mattress ticking. nubby warm blankets for the occasional nap. the scent of damask rose.  lanterns.  my new bee tile. wall of jars, with herbs that remind me of childhood and warm summer nights. a line of chairs in various
stages of disrepair. for friends. my sewing machine, and a brown floral to make a festoon curtain for the window that overlooks the field. when i am brave enough to climb the steps, (you have to walk on the very ouside of them and hold on to the walls), i watch the wind blow the tops of the corn. in the winter, you can see all the way to the hill above the covered bridge. the college lights up the horizon. gold. but the barn is in pieces.

tracks before the train.