How much sorrow can one piece of earth absorb? Can she hold all of the tears and rejoicing, the broken hearts and bullshit facades? This piece of earth, named family farm, what is the heights and depths of its broken, its living?

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I loved myself and spoke truth. I was quiet and patient, faithful to my intuition and flustered. I cried. I lived myself, and fought through some fog.

I watched someone drive away, taillights blinking in the night, hearts breaking and sorrow felt.

I witnessed the awkward of an honest man’s grief, of his cursing and questions, of his vulnerable in the midst of “we’re all fine”.

I found my connection was much deeper with those who have lived through the hard years, the broken promises; those in touch with the tender-self full of questions and doubts.

I heard crickets and rested in the silence. I enjoyed a wide open sky full of blues and billowing, of sunset shades and summer darkness.

I walked away with less frustration and more frustration, with new questions and old questions. I continue to move forward, though it appears at times you have to move backwards to step into the new day, the new era.

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Many, many thanks to each of you that surrounded me. It was felt.

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