Days on my own, with no questions to answer, no tugging hands, no meals to prepare, no tidying up, seem like they should be carefree and easy. But all those hours in a row make me feel frantic and grasping, with a list a mile long of all that I could do, that I would love to do, on my own. In the end, it's often something soul nourishing that I choose, because everything else seems like it can wait, but the right now and later on needs me to be grounded and flourishing and ready to pour out.
So it was a morning filled with words and light and the sunrise and coffee on the rooftop, and then walking the streets, looking and praying, letting each inform the other like a conversation. Then more coffee and quiet and writing.
Strange, how a heart can be weighed down and lifted up all at the same time.