In charting each step of these after-years, maybe I’ve laid down a map—small footsteps of a lurching heart after the firestorm of loss. Some have been sweet; some grueling. Some, pressed so close to Mystery, I could barely breathe. Some, lost, even though I’ve tried to keep track.
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This whole unfolding of what comes after love and loss has been so much more than I can say. Almost more than I can bear, though the bearing is an odd, joyous tenderness I wouldn’t have missed for the world.
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There is this trail I am laying down, this packet of notes: small, rounded pebbles of patience you could travel across, if only you would.
Beautiful to read the melody of your words. Soothing yet stimulating. But I must read and retread to understand your meaning. I feel shallow. But know I am not. I look forward to your return to swampy Louisiana. Perhaps we can have some deep discussions over a platter of crawfish.
Good feedback, Barbara – the letters were written from a kind of “otherworldy” place that felt mystical to me at times….maybe that’s why they seem a bit elusive? I’d love to talk over a plate of crawfish when I’m back.