4: Drifting...

A barge makes its way down the winter river that cuts North from South

It drifts, almost unnoticeably 

I breathe in this quiet room perched atop a south-facing cliff

I type, stretched across a sun-drenched bed 

It floats incrementally closer

I dream, What must it be like to be on a barge?  

How far will you travel today?

What's your cargo?

I drift, almost unnoticeably, into topics and territories

A girl trying out new worlds in which to live, write, teach...

Write on,

b

27: To pick a topic...

I sit in the same place I always do

to write tonight

the five-arm chandelier lights the way

as I scroll through my writer's notebook idea page

my phone's photo album

to pick a topic I can knead and share

There is the picture of a notebook

with the elder little's name on the back

yesterday the smaller little picked it up

flipped it over and handed it back to him

"Reid!  Here is your notebook!"

I marveled...

When did he learn to read?

There is the picture of a diminutive blue Jeep

with the smaller little in the driver's seat

my husband bent over to rescue the triangle

stuck beneath the front all-terrain wheels

I guessed...

That's not what the company meant by all-terrain.  Not tricycles.  

He'll learn to drive safely; first time out season.

Or maybe...

There is the picture of two little guys

roaming around the south side of the house

the elder coached the smaller little 

at his self-sponsored Easter egg hunt

"You're getting clooooooose.  Just look up."

I beamed...

They're getting it.  They are.

Someday they will be friends.

I sit in the same place I always do

to write tonight

the five-arm chandelier lights the way

as I scroll through my writer's notebook idea page -- 

my photo album -- 

to pick a topic I can knead and share

"I write to hold what I find in my life in my hands and declare it a treasure..."

Lucy Calkins

Write on,

b

2: Preface...

Since we met last March, new writing territories have emerged -- some invited, some invaded -- while familiar ones have grown deeper, more specific.  The darkness of some has made the space for blessing even brighter.  And, while it isn't my hope for this month's stories to lie heavy upon you, my reader; I'm keeping my writing honest.

Because I'm using it as a tool for healing.
Because I'm using it as a wedge to highlight places where 
the fullness of hope and love have shone bold and true.  

Since we met last March,

• My former job dissolved and a perfectly thrilling new opportunity emerged
• I've navigated the waters of a new position, a new educational community, a new district, a new schedule, and new materials
• I've traveled to places like Atlanta, Georgia; Columbus, Ohio; San Diego, California to learn from consummate reading and writing professionals
• I've struggled with five-year-old behaviors that have consumed my marriage and most of my sanity
• I've watched my smaller little's health thrive
• I lost my maternal grandmother and two months later... 
• I lost my great-aunt and two weeks later...
• I unexpectedly lost my paternal grandfather
• I've witnessed changes in my extended family because of loss...my parents' hearts break and then mend, break and then mend

It's like Lucy Calkins says, "I write to hold this life in my hands and declare it significant."  

I write to learn.

I write to know.

I write to heal.

I write to celebrate.

I write to remember.  

I write to share.

So, tomorrow, dear one, come back for a new story...a new moment to learn, know, celebrate, share.

Write on,

b