"It is only when we silent the blaring sounds of our daily existence that we can finally hear the whispers of truth that life reveals to us, as it stands knocking on the doorsteps of our hearts." ~K.T. Jong
"I wish we could squeeze in going back to see them," I said to my husband today.
I think about the porch with the rocking chair I always sit in--the one painted bluish gray and hand stenciled by my mother. I think of the window boxes filled with pansies, the pond littered with lily pads, the birdhouses made by my father nailed up high in the trees, the quiet peace I find secluded in the country where cars are not constantly whizzing by--where life takes its time because life will not be rushed there. My life is nothing like theirs and the silence always unnerves me, then eventually soothes me.
I think of my childhood furniture in the room upstairs where we always stay when we visit. I tell my children how I slept in this bed when I was little, and how right beside me, slept my sister, and sometimes I wish so hard that I could go back again because I never appreciated sharing a room with her until I didn't anymore. But mostly I think of the wildflowers because you would not believe how beautiful they are, and how whenever I see wildflowers anywhere, I always think of them.
Summer always makes me want to go back to my other home, to my other family, but this year, we're heading somewhere different. I'll be on vacation for the week.
Until then, think of me.
The New Civil War
21 hours ago