two hundred. seventeen.

I was up earlier than usual this morning (for a Saturday morning, that is).
Inspiration strikes when Kim Janssen is singing and I typed the morning away, sipping on iced coffee and kept company by the dogs.

This lack of rain means no mowing, and the spiders have declared the uncut, dry grass their own - webs are covering much of our lawn. They look like tiny layers of fog lying over tiny kingdoms hidden in the grass.

A candle labeled "Joy" burns at my desk and it's that which I feel this morning.
I've pulled aside the curtain and light floods this room.
We're almost ready.
We always use the word "nearly" to describe where we are in terms of getting there.
Nearly there.
It's the "nearly" that fills our steps with longing and this forward motion, the promise and the hope that sits neatly in that word.

for the beauty of the earth 


I'm learning as I'm writing, which is the best way to write.
It's nearly time for that chat.
We'll keep pushing forward -
let's find our feet sandy from the beach.

this our hymn of grateful praise

If you were here with me we'd sit in this room and be able to say nearly everything on our minds.
One day we'll get there.