The last three days have been full but not too full. Saturday and Sunday were mostly just being here in our lovely lodge or sitting on the deck listening to the loon calls in the mornings and evenings and simply watching the sugar maples and other trees blowing in the winds. Monday Breck spent the afternoon here, Tuesday Bob and Ruth, and today we're going to John and Judy's home for lunch.
Tomorrow we begin the three-day trip home.
Friends - from thirty years ago or more - have been so welcoming and charming. This has given us food for thought that goes very deep inside and gives us a feeling of belonging that is comforting, inspiring, and connection that is quite rare, at least for me. It makes me eager to work on building closer relationships wherever I am whoever they are. Each one has added a dimension to my life that is worthy of much more attention on my part.
Just being busy seems so empty and thus unimportant. What would all the busyness be for? Why do I find myself used up by being busy with little left over for the truly good. Some day I need to write about this more - maybe even several days or even weeks? Our hours of watching the trees, the flowers, picking up apples from under the neighbor's tree across the street, watching the clouds during the day and stars and moon at night, listening intently to friends and actually hearing them, selecting rocks from the pile next door to add to the labyrinth, waving to the walkers and bikers as they go by our front deck.
Enough.
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