Returned from the desert yesterday.
Red sandy camping gear was washed and put away. Sandals, climbing pack, biking pack, helmets and headlamps are stowed away in the gear closet. Last night my pink rose flannel sheets and fluffy pillows felt scrumptious. The post-midnight-pee lacked the butt-chilling, sandy-toe-under-the-stars-stumble of cold desert nights in camp. My emotions are mixed. I’ve only been home a handful of nights in the last four weeks – home sweet home feels good. Snow blankets the hillside behind my cabin. Dust and neglected plants compete for attention inside my cabin. I am sporting big new bruises, a few scrapes, and a sunburned nose but am encouraged by how well my post-surgery body handled the activity.
My body is healing.
My heart still feels rough and raw like the desert rock. Bare, exposed, burnished by sand and sun – a bit gritty. Expansive. I drank deep from the stars. I snuggled, encouraged and laughed with the kids. I dreamt that I had stuffed their colorful kickball under my shirt to see how pregnancy felt, did a deep easy knee bend with my shirt stretched tight and knew that pregnancy would have felt right. I lay awake at night in a family tent big enough for a disco ball dance party, listened to the sweet sounds of kids sleeping, and simply felt. Love and loss. I marvel at the contrast of beauty and the harshness of a desert landscape heart. Barren.
Promising open spaces.
Gratitude and a grin. Longing. Deep sigh. Big breath.