… listening to birdsong as I hang out the laundry (the larks are back and nesting, mapping out their territories in song, so it is particularly splendid right now), the toads croaking their hearts out in the little acequia that runs through my land…
I’m packing a bag and some books and heading down to Taos to stay in Mabel Dodge Luhan’s old house. Really. I am. I can’t believe it myself, but it’s true.
Pain or no I intend to continue. And you all are some of what I know to grab hold of when I need a pull up, when I need to remember who I am.
… I put some real heart into wondering why I had ever been. And there was nothing. No great thing. No reason at all that I could come up with.
… and I haven’t even started with Kim’s divine pastries—tarts and scones and cakes and pies and cobblers…
So I’ve written this small piece to you all to enlist your support in getting me down the mountain to start a thing I want DONE without the doing of it. Oh me.
I want to enlist your help: I’d like you to witness my journey back to health. Why, you might be asking, should I give a whit about that? But hear me out.