Monday, September 11, 2017

“If you don’t know where you’re from, you’ll have a hard time saying where you’re going.”

~ Wendell Berry

Awake long before dawn, in the stillness of the early morning, I write about endings and beginnings, shovelling words like sand into a box that I will play with and tidy up later. I’m working on a piece for my writing group and feeling self-imposed pressure to get it done.

In time, sandbox filled for now, I open my web browser and Google hotels. We’re planning a little get-away to the place I love best in the world. Soon I’ll be standing on the prairie, breathing deep, and feeling the whisper of belonging in a place that hasn’t been my physical home for many years, but that remains, always, the home of my heart.

The place where I am from. The place where I am going. Simple happy.

Thanks so much for stopping by. I'm here most mornings with a photo and a few words about ordinary extraordinary things and, sometimes, thin places where faith intersects.
  1. Enjoy your trip. My ” other home town” was pretty much spared in Hurricane Irma. I’m feeling relief.

    1. Happy to hear that, Paige. Such terrible devastation from these storms.

  2. Your sandbox metaphor is wonderful. So is the quote from Wendell Berry which reminds me of why we write memoir.

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