the fog is lifting

This morning here in Mendenhall we wake up in the mist. Inside the fire is burning. Outside it is pleasantly cold. After being away two days, the fall colors were even more profound. Now they're tempered, grayish through the mist.
But looking up there is bright blue sky with a purple tinge.
The sun is peeking out.
It is going to be a glorious day!

Last week i wrote this poem

hang in there woman!
life is a kite
taken up by the wind
strings attached
a tail flowing and
a taut line
who is running
barefoot
in the sand
trying to hang on
I am the kite
but please
don't let me go
free in this big sky
I am blue, yellow
and bright red
what color
is your
Spirit soaring
seemingly free


Today my kite is purple, hardly distinguishable, either dipping in that mist or high up in that sky.
I feel i am soaring. Seemingly free, but as i say don't let me go. I do need you!
In my profile you read, 'dedicated to wild places', but now looking down from way up.
These places are way more powerful than i imagined them to be. And they will survive even without me:) The joke 's on me and once again i am set free.
What i am saying, is i feel drawn to different directions. As following trails finding my way, as an actually real part of my life, is still very true. I realize i am opening other parts of me, equally real.
And as i discovered at age 47, that i have always belonged and actually always been out in the wild.
Now i am soaring at 49, i see that the wilderness is very much in me.

Only one other aspect; my paintings on poplar bark (crafts really)

I look forward to sharing.....whatever is revealed
when the fog lifts.
Thanks for being here with me.