It feels like being in the middle, but who can tell for sure.
My mood is a brew of stewing and moping. Never mind those moods like the weather moves on and then there's something else.
We weathered the winds that came early in the morning just after my birthday. The strapping was stout and held us fast. Pete slept through the gusts. I remained on gale watch, chanting prayers without worry beads I just called on 'em all and finally slept around daybreak.
Pete is sawing up old fir boards for the decking that will be the foundation for our 'Porch Pods' (the mini rooms that will become our cooking area/JOTS apartment and privy/closet). There's a break between the November storms and the energy of the ozone-rich air is nice to be in. The last of the willow leaves sprinkled the front yard and gave me a good bit of old-fashioned raking exercise. A good metal rack and my well-washed and de-stinked winter ware kept me good and warm until the simple back and forth movement stirred the juices within. JOTS is happy to be re-positioned in her carrier aka JOTS Apartment on the Porch. Though she loves the insideness of the basement, she like us, gets restless for the wildness of open air.
Moods of darkness do come. If we wander too far from the tether of our now, the journey seems too long, too far, too much. It's an illusion, I know. Yet as human as I am, I get caught in that too, too and I am moodled. The leaves are beautifully piled beneath the willow with her arched limbs it looks to be an umbie lost it's cover. Like me when I get moodled. And then I think of the young woman I saw the other day with a smile that just went on for the ever. For what ever reason she wore that smile in the middle of the day and lit me good, I see her plain.
I am breathing easier today, moodled or not.
I am warm, loved and part of it all.
Raking leaves and a crock pot cooking with chicken and black eyed peas makes me smile. It's not Hollywood, it's Everett and we're living here.