"These soft nights hold me like themselves aloft
and I lie without a lover."
~Rainer Maria Rilke

My husband and I don't spend many days or nights apart. I haven't spent so long away from him since our wedding, and it's a lonely experience. The nights especially, not only am I lying alone in a strange bed, I'm alone without my familiar nights. Away from the yurt, I miss the moon and the stars, the frogs peeping down by the stream and the wind in the trees. I miss my husband's warm, rich voice and his presence, with fills the night with comfort.

I think my restless days are ending. Travel has less appeal - I never thought it would, but I'm more and more attached to the bit of land we've made our own. As we continue to put down roots - planting, adding animals, buildings, and the baby, wandering becomes less likely, and less of a need in me. I have my woods to wander through, my stream to discover anew each day, and the ever-changing seasons to alter my scenery. I think I've become content - something I never expected to be. Happiness and joy have been mine almost continually in life, but contentment and restfulness, I never expected.

That's not to say I'm not enjoying my visit. My family is always a joy to spend time with, and I find myself appreciating them more and more. I'm glad I came out to cheer my youngest brother's graduation, and celebrate my baby with those who knew me as a baby, but I will be glad to come home to my husband, our home, and the life we're shaping together.

"Thoughts are slow and deep and golden in the morning."
~John Steinbeck

There's something about the weather today that makes me want to be away from home. Not out in the weather, but out somewhere in the day. I want to be moving from place to place. I wan to be alone, and I want not to be alone. I brought Luba with me in the car and let her play with the winshield wipers, she likes to snap at them as they brush by and then watch eagerly for the repeat. She likes to sit shotgun and press her nose against the windshield when it rains.

It smells of autumn today, of things passing away. If it weren't for the buds and flowers on trees, I would say it's September. I still have flowers to plant along the road, a garden to form, and the coming summer to welcome in with bonfires and beautification; but today I'm in reflective, roaming mode. It's a mood to be in off and on, so long as it doesn't take over. Nothing is accomplished, but so much is nurtured.

"The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible."
~ Vladimir Nabakov

I do have a post drafted, about good reading and bad reading, good art and bad art, but I haven't posted it yet, partially because I'm still a little unhappy about the tone of the blog, it sounds a little too harsh, and partially because my keyboard is in rebellion. Three of my letter keys are on strike, and typing an entire post with the "On Screen Keyboard" is a little beyond my abilities. Hopefully, the keyboard trouble will clear up just as my post is postable.

"I have been one aquainted with the night
I have walked out in the rain and back in the rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light."
~Robert Frost

I have certainly outwalked the city lights in life. My home at night is deep in darkness - planted like a tiny seed in the black sky. I can watch, as we did last night, every drop of light fade slowly in the evening, until we were left with just the sky and stars. I could imagine the stars as tiny, far off yurts, glowing welcome to us through huge expanses of space, until there were too many and they became themselves again: the individual stars and the collections that make Orion, the bears, the lion, and those I still don't know.

The night is friendlier in the darkness of the woods. Friendlier outside the lights of the city. In our apartment I felt need to keep the night out, to fill our rooms with lights and sound, but out here, there are nights we use no lights at all - the darkness is softer, and we can wrap ourselves in it, and belong there, with the calling birds, the coyotes, and the peeping frogs who chorus up from the stream.

I have become so much aquainted with the night - watching the moon wax and wane above the yurt, watching the stars switch places on the sky. But the aquaintance doesn't keep away all fear - walking alone down the road in cloudy darkness is a lonely path and the rustling of last year's beech leaves, dead on the branch, becomes an unfriendly sound. Strange the difference stars make when walking out at night.

"..the rain
is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
upon the glass and listen for reply."
~Edna St. Vincent Millay

Now that the weather has warmed it is a lovely evening walk to the outhouse. Seeing the birches stark white without their leaves against the darkness, watching the sunset and feeling the cool air dance around me makes the walk a time of meditation and immersion in the soft sounds of nature. But springtime has brought back the ghosts of the walk as well. Perhaps because it is no longer a bundled hurrying from one building to another - head down to fight the cold, but once again, swaying against the naked birches I see my three ghosts.

In my dreams, I've seen them scattered on the land - beneath our many birch groves. They guide me along and keep away the evils that always seem to hide in deep, wooded places. But my waking self has only ever met them on the evening walk to outhouse - by the birches that grow beside the window. They speak like angels: "fear not," and fade.

Jenna, at A Light Inside recommended me for a "versitile blog" award, which requires I write seven interesting things about myself and pass it on to fifteen other blogs. I don't know of fifteen other blogs, but I thought I'd post the interesting things anyway. I've never really been able to resist talking or writing about myself - any excuse is pure enjoyment.

1. Most interesting for my right now is the baby I'm carrying. After three years of marriage, my husband and I are expecting our first child and we are overcome with the blessing - and overwhelmed with "Things we'd like done before the baby comes". I'm grateful that I've remained much more physically capable than I expected to be at this stage of pregnancy, and I can't help but rejoice in my strength as I de-stump the garden, haul wood, and burn brush piles.

2. I live entirely off the gird, in a yurt, and apart from occasional cravings for a big, deep bathtub, I am entirely happy with it. We have huge plans for our land, and eventual "real house" but for the present, and the not-too-distant future, we have only modest desires: a driveway that can be driven on consistently, a garden, chickens, and a well.

3. I'm eagerly anticipating my post-pregnancy tattoo. Paritially because I love getting tattoos, and partially because I know our tattoo-artist will be thrilled to see the baby! He's an amazing man with land and five kids of his own.

4. I have a tendency to forget to be tackful when in discussion. I'm much better at writing kindly than I am at speaking without being dismissive.

5. I would much rather have my beautiful dishes smashed by careless users than use plastic dishes. Which, I suppose is why visiting children wander my house with handmade, pottery espresso mugs and why my own favorite mugs often end up lacking handles from trips in the car, or in my purse, to places that don't have nice dishes.

6. If I could change anything in my past, it would be my fashion sense in the first two years of college. In other words, I don't have a lot of regrets.

7. Cyganeria is a Polish word, meaning artistic bohemia. It applies a good deal to my life: Art being the pursuit of beauty, and bohemian meaning the unconvential life. I think it is Rilke, my favorite poet, who says "Be for one day unfashionable, and you will see how much eternity is in you." I am striving to see, each day, if I can't grow that bit of eternity, until it fills me completely.

Blessings!

Between our trip to Vegas last week to visit with family, and a visit from my oldest and dearest friend this past weekend, taxes, and the distracting beauty of spring, I've had no time for writing. I'm sorry for the delay in blogging - but not as sorry as I should be. I had such a wonderful time absorbing the desert beauty of Las Vegas, catching up with my sister, and people-watching on the strip last week. It's an overwhelming city, and though I can't imagine ever living there, I want to go back again to visit. Last weekend I spent more time talking and listening than I have in years. I haven't seen my friend in years, and we had so many stories to tell. Our lives have gone in such different directions after high-school: I'm now off the grid in Maine, while she is enjoying the sun in the south. It's wonderful to be reminded though that we are still the same people, and our friendship does not depend at all on nearness, or superficial agreement, but on something deeper and stronger that lasts. Now that life has returned to normal, I'll be drafting a few new posts to put up in the next few weeks. Blessings.