reverse threading

the path back is the path forward


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undressed inchworms. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

embrace of life – by mimi webster, the john denver sanctuary, aspen, colorado

THIS is how i feel in the mountains.

all worries, concerns, things we are suffering or things too complex – shed – as clothing falling off, a nakedness of joy, exulting in the sky, the purity of air, the scent of early spring in high elevation.

THIS is how i feel there.

it is not unlike how i feel at the side of the ocean, with waves lapping my feet, infinite blue meeting aqua on a horizon too far away to particularly discern, salt air sticking to my hair, sun beating down, uninhibited.

it is recent discovery that we realize it is a new time. though we both are – and have been – aware of the tenuousness, aware of how nebulous it all is – and one of us distinctly more thready than the other – we are beginning to see life in smaller morsels. we are not sprinting past on our way to somewhere which will ultimately be on the way to somewhere else. instead, we are slower and more deliberate. we are undressed inchworms – exposed – in miles and miles of life. intentionally.

at the entrance to the john denver sanctuary, embrace of life stands, gloriously. i needed no reminder. i walked in – throwing my head back to the sky – throwing my arms out to collect it all, to wrap in it, to bring it all home. my heart is open. wide open. air rushes in as we walk among boulders chiseled with lyrics and prose. each moment is shimmering.

THIS is how i feel.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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slowly. [not-so-flawed wednesday]

we almost did it. almost. almost ordered thai food for pick-up.

but we didn’t.

we’d been hiking and were cold and tired. and we didn’t reeeeally want to make dinner.

but we did.

eventually.

we got around to it.

slowly.

we pulled our adirondack chairs into the last vestiges of sun in the yard, sipped wine, had a happy snack. when the sun disappeared, we brought our glasses inside and painted rocks – from the sand near the beachhouse – at the kitchen table, for we had hidden all the ones we previously painted. time stretched out in front of us, slow, a glorious saturday night.

instead of pad thai, we made tacos with homemade seasoning, had one of the last two avocados from my sister, watched a hallmark – yes, hallmark – movie under a big sherpa blanket, had two squares of chocolate.

hiking – tough elevation climbs – on this last trip to north carolina reminded me to go slow. it was the lesson i brought home from vacation. set a slower pace, don’t set too high a bar, mosey a bit, let living happen.

so i planted the painted rock on our sunroom table on top of sandstone from those smoky mountain trails. the other side of the rock reads, “no. slower.” you know…take a backroad, linger in the setting sun, sink under a blanket, climb a little slower.

my snapchat alerted me to a flashback. two years ago. on a balcony in aspen. the caption: “i don’t want to leave.” i remember slowly packing up, slowly loading the truck, slowly driving away. it was hard to go – as always – but slower made it a little easier.

i leave summer slowly and i step into autumn – my favorite – slowly. i wasn’t really ready for flannel. i pulled off the summer sheets for the last time in the season, thinking about how it feels on a hot night to place your face on a cool spot of the pillow. flannel isn’t like that.

but at the end of the night, after hiking and tacos and wine, chocolate and blanketed-movie-watching, in a house chilled by blustery northwest winds, the flannel was warm and i found myself snugged in soft stripes, slowly drifting off.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY