two hundred. eighteen.

I write so much less here.
It's not that I have less to say
In conversations my words come tumbling out when it's my turn to talk & I've written novels for letters.
Just putting my words in different places these days.

Everything always makes so much more sense when the weather turns cooler.
My head is clearer and the music is better and the sky is overwhelming and my hands are at my heart because of it.
It is your hands I wish I could grab and say "Don't you know this all?"
It doesn't work that way, though.

My book list is ever advancing. One day, though, I must stop reading about things and do them better. I've always thought that there would be a cap on how much you could read about something before you could really just jump up and do it, but I don't think there is. I believe that I could read about something and think on it for ages, for forever, and never really do a thing about it.
I was talking with a friend about this recently - it had something to do with generosity at the time. How to give things away? & everyone has an opinion. I could talk about it and ask for wisdom on it and read about good ways to give away money, time, possessions for the rest of my days and never really do anything about it.
And yet the reading and the talking and the thinking about the thing is almost enough to make me forget that I've not done anything at all. But not quite, because every once in a while I'll remember, and despair at what my indecision has made me.
So. Working on being bold enough to do.

Hope you are feeling the fullness and feeling quite rooted these days.
My heart & soul grow fuller and more grounded
[but my feet are restless
there are still some things to find.]