This weekend I traveled.
I drove up to Petaluma with one of my most treasured sister-friends
to meet up with another beloved
and navigate a delicious mixture of business and pleasure.
Every conversation provided this gorgeous clarity
a ton of belly laughs
a few swiftly falling tears
and a sense of destiny.
That sounds lofty, destiny.
I fell back into my life here yesterday afternoon
after a Pacific Ocean sunrise
and breakfast at Della Fattoria,
after getting stuck in frightful traffic over the Bay Bridge
and procuring belt blanks at Tandy Leather
I landed back into the arms of Schmilly.
I took in the warm-hued hardwood floors and the hot dry of the South Bay.
Orion was pleased to see me, but he was impatient to know what had become of
Auntie Kelly, with whom he is enamored.
I wandered the clean studio
humming and buzzing with the thousand new ideas in my head and heart
knowing so well this pathway they travel
to my hands and then out into the world
Anthony had kept track of our beloved orb weaver while we were gone
and he pointed her out to me, tucked under a dried tomato leaf, waiting for the night.
There is something about my life these last few years that makes me feel very much kin
to the weavers: the intense creativity, the waiting (oh my god the waiting), the instinct
and randomness and hunger.
It's travels like this that nourish me
and refill something so deeply depleted.
The timing is always just so,
just wondrous in its perfection.
My friends are magicians.
Now if you'll excuse me:
my belly is full.
There is a large web to weave
and new pathways
to pave in silk