And when the world turns over
I’ll switch to the other side of the bed And face a new day Between my palms, oceans away All the things I’m missing, Slipping And when the world starts to sink I’ll know we’re bound to float swimming back to shore And to wake up again I’ll hear the chickens and crickets And climb out from under the net.
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Halfway into my first year, the most important piece of my service has become my river home. It has been therapy, it has been grace, it has been liberty and space.
In a few short months my river home has grown with the help of grey clouds and near daily rain. It’s a monstrous beautiful force. My river home speaks in tumbling rapids and quiet leaves floating away in the breeze. There are soft alcoves only found in distant bush missions. There are expanses of broad, black rock that scorch laundry dry. There are swift and silent, skinny canoes with loud boisterous men and boys. There are tall and proud reeds. Swaying and soft grasses. Time disappears with the changing of tides. The water, a cool remedy for anything that matters. The water, an escape that as no limits. It has been magical. Magical to be in one place so raw with nature, to be here and witness the seasonal changes. The ways my river home, this land, fills its cheeks full with life. Full to the brim, turning green, green, green - tall, tall, tall - full, full, full. In many more months my river home will retreat. A cycle destined to begin again. Things will feel small, time expanding, distance spreading once more. I’ll learn new things about this land then. New things to love and new things to loss. Only for them to return with the wildly routine seasons of nature, of my river home. |
Author's note:Hi, I'm Helen. Welcome to Lifted ~ I write to lift myself up. Archives
March 2021
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