Driving Around

The last few days I been thinking about the reality of moving here and what that means for me and my family. I get a bit ponderous, then eventually distracted by the sheer volume of things I have to do during the day. The other night, after a day of cleaning and organizing and general parenting, the house felt warm and a bit lonely, so I opened the sliding doors and I sat down and listened to the creek and felt the cool air come in. Today, driving to a friend's house, I took a different route and when I came out onto the highway I gasped out loud. It is beautiful here. Just stunning.

And there's something else, too. I can't define it. It's this feeling that I have, sitting, listening to the creek. Something in my stomach that flutters when I see the trees against the road; when I glimpse the Cascades behind them. Driving over Mercer Island and seeing Seattle's skyline against the Olympic backdrop. Even when it's rainy, coming home to our little valley, watching the mist swirl up against the mountains. I would say that it takes my breath away, but really it doesn't. It gives me new breath, new life, every time I look outside.
Further definition eludes me right now, so I leave with an invitation: Come sit with me and hear the creek. We'll have some tea and enjoy the weather, rain or shine, because both are beautiful here. Bring your own teacups, though, because I'm still unpacking mine.