Oh, this new home of ours. I love it.
Tonight, after the Ralphs came by for dinner, I walked about the house feeling very grateful for these rooms and this space.
We have been busy. We have been working every day and every night, unpacking, painting, hanging pictures, cleaning, sorting…on top of our daily living. I felt myself start to get really tired last night, in that good sort of way when you have expended a great deal of energy on something you really care about.
I’m looking forward to sharing more, when more is done, but for now we still have a few things to paint, a shed to break into and a craft room to assemble (did I leave the best til last? Hmm, I have been dreaming of this room!)
Walking about this evening I realised that there is a lot more space and a lot less clutter, and I also realised that my house is a bit of a shrine to Nikki McClure, with 13 prints from ‘Collect Raindrops’ hanging on our walls, that seem to reflect just where we are in our lives right now.
We welcome the world. A bounty of light is received: strawberry, raspberry, blueberry, black. Fruits fill our buckets, though not always our own, and the living made is shared. Arms are thorn-cut and bleeding. Mosquitoes hover for more. We open our dry mouths like the baby birds who rasp and cry. Fruit juice drips sticky-sweet rinsed off with hose or cold-water lake, ocean, sound. We lie down on the face of the earth and the heat blurs molecular lines. We melt into the grass, just water to surrender, limp and ready for siesta. Fruit juices distill into nectar while we sleep. Vines grow, eclipse and cover. Sunflowers topple from their heavy ripening seeds, each holding the last of the summer sun.
The outside becomes inside. Tables are set in the shade of trees and we cook outside. We wander, hiking, picnicking, exploring the terrain. We search for the best watermelon, the most perfect nectarine. Summer is canned, frozen, preserved to remember.
It takes all day for the tide to fall and rise again, transferring the heat of rocky beach to the water’s edge. We become otter, salmon, seal at night. Phosphorescence sparkles our bodies with pixie light. We stand up and become the starry night sky. New constellations are named and then we fall back into the waves again to create more universes. Eventually our heat transfers as well. Bones are chilled and the hot day is forgotten. We run chattering to our towels.
We try to hold on to the last days of bare arms and legs. Early caches of sunflower seeds stored by eager squirrels sprout a leggy forest hoping for just a little bit more. Just a wee bit more. Don’t go. We only have sixty-four? Eighty-seven? Ninety-four summers if we are lucky. We hold on and take the last quick swim just to say that we did.