In Her Voice, In Her Spirit - "Places I've been".

On Chiefswood

There couldn't be a more magnificent place to dream.

This - our home on the hill, just on the brink of Easter. The days are beginning to stretch into night and at once I'm letting go of that wintery isolation that November brings. We can stay outside - we can stay outside longer. Something is awakening in me - the smell of thawed earth, the wind rolling off the river, the river flowing and retracting and calling me in, that wonderful hush of Spring's song - the beautiful orchestra of the breeze and the pines. As the world awakens, so do I.

I feel so strongly on days like these, that destiny has seen this place - and recognizing it's longing in her own heart, has quietly reached down and touched it. That is the spirit of my home - utterly and absolutely destined - in one way or another. I see the plight of Father and Mother's love in the lines of their faces, and in the weariness of their eyes and hands. And yet, despite all weariness, nothing can stop that love. Nothing can stop them and this place from being all that it can be, all that it is. It is in their willingness to dream that destiny has come. And so I wonder, in doing the same, will destiny visit me? And how will she come - through whose eyes, through what song, down what river?

Spring. How it goes stirring my soul like nothing else.