The clean-out continues. A friend says we should knock out one wall and create an open space – kitchen, dining room, living room – one space.
I sit in the living room comforted by a wall of books, and wake this morning feeling what they mean to me. They hold memories and are easily seen and accessed. They beckon, titillate, and calm. Each book offers entry to another world, perception, space, time.
I think of Abraham Lincoln walking through snow to bring home books to read by the fire. A Kindle may be named for fire but doesn’t offer that.
The birds continue their song and my ears perk all the way along the eustachian tube to my nose, lungs, heart and feet. The air vibrates, the ground. I hear flight, vibrate inside.
Grateful, I wonder if gratitude is like a bird, singing and fluttering the air we share.
I read that Love is an energy, not an emotion. It’s the tissue of life itself. Oxygen enters through a wet surface and the heart moistens when we feel love.
Thornton Wilder in The Bridge of San Luis Rey wrote, “There is a land of the living, and the land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survivor, the only meaning.
And so it is! Let the bridge be long!