these days were so gentle with me. walks with the rising sun, receiving her offerings. lungfuls of air, light and cold, spiced with wildflowers and spruce, juniper and pine. the sounds i heard: water on rock, a houseful, soft words, mother words, laughter and wise counsel, birdsong, deep breaths, my baby's glee at the tickle of blue sage, my own pulse with a hum. tucking six sunshine-haired ducklings into their beds and staying up late to volley thoughts on vegetable gardens and the cosmos, the intricacies of faith. i reach for the words to account for our june days in utah, and i reach and i reach. how to write about days lived amongst my womenfolk, climbing mountains and chasing babies?
these days were about recharging in the great space of summertime in the desert.