Monday, May 5, 2014

Settling in to Spaciousness



I’m still tip-toeing around this place like an uncertain guest.  Stopping to pause at every window, checking to see that the sky is still there.  

Stepping across the road to retrieve the mail, the old corn field opens before me like the ocean.  Waves of grain lap at my feet and the sense of spaciousness is palpable, there in that vertigo moment on the edge.  Walking out across our own field with the twins, I feel conspicuous, exposed, as a hawk glides against the clear blue sky above us.  

One early visit, before the big move, we found evidence of the hawk’s appetites.  A squirrel’s tail, tufts of feathers and fluff scattered under a giant pine tree.  I wonder about the chickens we’ll keep and the kitten (s) I hope to have one day, I picture them crossing the field under that narrowed eye. 
 
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There’s a Mourning Dove building a nest in the smallest of the pines, a fluffy overgrown Christmas tree.  She lands near the base of the house gathering the exact pieces she needs to build a safe place for her eggs.

We all hang close to the house, garage, retreat, these things seem more familiar somehow and I work, spiraling through in expanding circles, to make them more familiar yet.  The sound of laundry in the dryer, the smell of peppers, onions and garlic sauteed, these are the twigs and leaves with which I line my nest.

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Last night, while I swung on the old porch swing, Isaiah found a bird’s egg, a small pinkish orb.  I expected it to feel like air in the palm of my hand, the nothingness that it was, but it carried a weight of its own.  It was cold to the touch and showed just the tiniest sign of impact. 

The egg that fell, lost from love and life was found again with much rejoicing, no matter its sorry state. 

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Just before dinner we pull out a kite, a cheap plastic red and black ladybug and I watch from the driveway’s macadam as John throws the bright flag wind-ward, tossing it toward heaven until it catches on breath unseen.  The four of them spin there in the open field, faces lifted toward that bright blue while the bit of red soars, dancing.  Isaiah runs in giddy circles, then falls to the grass, rolling, as Levi and I walk out hand-in-hand to join them.  

Something ancient in us whispers there is danger in wide, open spaces, but a deeper voice draws us to the edge.  There is another eye that watches; the hawk is not the only one and we too were made for soaring. 

This post is linked with Playdates With God. and Chronicles of Grace.

11 comments:

  1. Kelly,
    such beauty in your descriptions and the gentle reminder of our Father's eye watching over us... Thank you :)

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  2. Every word. Yes, Kelly. I love EVERY BLESSED WORD of this. You especially turned my head, though, at the last:

    "Something ancient in us whispers ... " Because that same echo whispers in all you write. Just lovely, friend. As always.

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    1. Thanks, Kelli. I'm excited for you to move ahead with the Hear it On Sunday crowd - a great opportunity for you.

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  3. I can visualize this family frolicking in the green space beneath the clear blue sky as a gentle breeze carries the kite forward.

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  4. Oh my goodness. This is my first time reading your weaving of words, but certainly not my last. I'm right there with you under the hawk's (and another's) watchful eye. Blessed indeed. Thank you.

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    1. So glad it spoke to you, yes, do stop by again :)

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  5. Spectacular. And I find myself tearing up at this great gift you've unwrapping. Oh, my. Be blessed in all this space, dear Kelly.

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  6. rejoicing with you
    in the new, and the old in the new
    the sense of place, and space
    and settling

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  7. Really, really beautiful. Blessed by reading the richness of your words. Oh yes, made to soar on wings as eagle's and hide in the shadow of His.

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