it's been a hither-thither summer as yet, and here we are, tucked back in between these four walls for time that stretches as far as our eyes can see. i am breathing deeply in that thought. (home.) (here.)
i've got wanderlust that stretches the world over, and my gratitude for opportunities to travel -- and my camerado to chase and receive them with -- runs bone-deep. travel is a portal into expansion. it is the living gift of stepping outside of myself, my world, for a bird's eye view and, in turn, collecting observations and inspirations, filling my lungs and mind, dreaming in specific, enjoying family, living out hopes of raising babies amidst faraway friends, even if only for a pearl string of days each summer...
and yet. i find my deepest joy at home. i contain multitudes.
how happy i am, to return home, rested and rooted and reckoning, awash in the bewitchment of summer lived slowly, simply, purely. lips stained with red berries. golden curls damp with sunscreen and sweat. lit candles and poetry at breakfast. iced cappuccinos. bathing suits hanging to dry in the shower. the cyclical rhythm of laundry, meals, errands, playdates. the hum of the fan, hard at work. impossibly sweet tomatoes. sandal tan lines. life a quiet, joyous symphony of little feet on hardwoods, jingle of keys in the door, heart-swells at my great, unnameable privilege to spend days keeping our home and raising our baby. filling and re-filling the french press. cold milk in glass bottles. cherries on the counter. poetry. all of it.
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