I am dwelling on the sights and sounds and smells of home and comfort.
I am trying not to overwhelm or overburden -
I am baking my very first loaf of sourdough, kneading earnestly, waiting patiently for it to rise and rise and rise (though it didn't quite get there), and bake. It is dark rye and delicious.
I am helping the house transition - where one space becomes naked and another becomes packed to the inch with boxes and lamp-shades and laughter. Our housemates leave for their house by the waves tomorrow and we leave for my mum's in three weeks.
I am making time to meditate on the smallest, curious things like star-white flowers and early afternoon day dreams.
I am not letting my anxiety take the colour from my eyes.
I am believing in the power that makes the pumpkin grow inches bigger every day.
I am looking at the beautiful pastel my mother bought years ago, which I have always loved too (like most things between us). Never did I imagine as I looked at it shining soft and beautiful in my childhood room that it would come with me in my little home in France. I see my brown-haired mamma in it, holding me close to her breast, her soul, her secret mother place that knows a greater love.
I am hearing the cars pass outside my window, and cicadas buzzing summer summer summer...
I finding myself completely in love with my husband,
and the prospect of building many blanket-forts while we have the house to ourselves for a little while.
I am feeling ready to take on the week ahead,
you are too.