The ferry drops us off and holding hands we climb back into the mighty Suburban. Our covered wagon of sorts has found a home in the wilderness of Whidbey Island. Having provided many miles of service to its family, we have decided to put it out to pasture in a great driveway of gravel and clover. Ocean air swirls around as deer check out their reflection in the sand brushed exterior. Add several hundreds miles to the over 100 thousand you’ve already racked up and land us on an island in Washington, we said. It did so without a fuss, only asking for fuel every 200 miles. Now sprawled about, my 3 boys and our dog the size of Rhode Island command the back seat. Looking back I see many sizes of bare feet and large paws thrashed about, competing with the fast food containers and electronic cords. Something, someone…Continue Reading
Strong black tea fills my tall ceramic mug, steam spirals up and out. Thick dark amber colored honey hesitantly drizzles down. Day begins I savor each sip, each step.
We are told that we should never turn down the corners of book pages, yet I live a good book; caressing a smooth paragraph, looking off into the distance, absorbing scenes, feeling the words, gathering in a song, a whisper, a glance, sharing joy, finding consolation in closure.   A story becomes part of the pieces of me. Not quite visible though somehow tangible.   Consuming books are the nourishment that fuels the soul, momentarily satisfying, always left hungry for more.