How do you know,
when the River has told you
the stories of the ancestors,
that you will remember the tale
to tell to the wind,
after the snow has fallen,
after the grey fog has settled
deep into the valleys,
that you will remember the cadence
when the the small animals gather
to listen to you sing the River’s song,
that you will recall the bright watery threads
that weave through every story the River has told
since the beginning of time,
since the dawn of remembering?
Gratitude List:
1. The mist/fog yesterday morning that settled over the valley below Mt. Pisgah and above the River. The highway skirted the edges of it for a time, and I would travel through patches of sunshine, with open space to one side and dense fog on the other. At times the fog hovered above the road and pink shone through the layer of mist, so it looked like pink was caught on the underbelly of the fog, and it was difficult to determine the source of its illumination.
2. It happened again yesterday: I don’t often spend much thought on worrying about how I look, but occasionally the old voices pipe up: “Look at the frumpy teacher!” On the very day that I have had such a thought (and I am very careful not to let personal things like that show in the classroom), there is always some girl who comes up and tells me she loves something about what I am wearing. I used to think that teenage girls were like sharks–they could smell your discomfort with yourself a mile away, and they would circle in for the kill. I now think that this was only my personal teenage self projecting my own anxiety onto others. Still, I now think that they DO have radar. They sense how and in what way you might need a boost, and they circle in and offer help.
3. I had an anxiety dream last night, and I managed to manipulate it to solve my problem. So often I wake up from those feeling like I am at the mercy of the fates, but this morning, I feel like I have the tools to make my way through the things I was worried about.
4. The women who fought and protested to make it possible for women to vote. “As we go marching, marching. . .”
5. I know I go on about this, but GOLDEN. Everything is golden.
May we walk in Beauty!
Mockingbird Chronicles 