More impromptu poetry

My heart song glad,

incense in the morning. Thanks and praises.

We have come into a spacious place,

stepping into thin air

only to find that

falling feels more like flying.


I feel aware and alive this morning. You could chalk it up to dance class last night. I'm not sure if you remember my "give it a year" philosophy with my West African Dance class, but it seems to be working. It has been a year, maybe a little less. All I know is that when I started it was dark outside while we danced, turning the windows into mirrors that we could critique ourselves in, slightly. And the big barrel stove was going, turning the room into a sauna, making us slightly light-headed. And then when we drove home we shot through the dark on steep curves, under the trees that are as tall as mountains.

It's that season again. All the vineyards are turning, the ivy is turning. The poison oak is turning. Everything is beautiful, even the unbeautiful, and my year of dancing has made me stronger.

I wasn't as faithful about going as I would have liked. But a year later my feet can follow more often than not. And a year later I feel like I may just dance as long as I can find classes.

There are opportunities coming up that have put me into a state of awe. It seems that God has had our address all along. And although it still feels as though chunks of my heart break off when people come to look at the Land, mulling over whether they want to buy it, (just don't cut down the trees!)  I am heartened by the fact that there is this dancing path ahead of us. And I'm allowed to take it.