I ache with it. I snatch at fragments of time, and even those slip through my fingers.
The blog sleeps, but I dream of writing.
I have words oozing out my pores - I imagine myself as some sort of X-men mutant,with newsprint for skin and a haze of dangling participles billowing in my personal space just waiting to make sense and arrange themselves into readable thoughts.
And, yet I do not write.
Not for lack of interest or writers block.
Today - enough!
Seizing the moment, I wake in this space, and offer up a paltry but grateful handful of sentences.
I can surmise that a busy spring on this Green Acres has left me with hundreds of photos and no time to chronicle with words.
I suppose the increasing demands of Weekend Farmer Husband's employment and the busyness of my older children keeps me cooking, cleanin', and running the show rather than journaling.
And, there's been an eruption of relational needs. And they've been painful. And hard. And suffocating. And I'm okay, and so is the farm family, our faith being further forged, and God acting in love and the constancy of His character has preserved us. But, there's no margin so only the necessary is accomplished.
Even so, life marches on.
And it's good.
The farm flourishes and the season is flush with it's fullness.
Spring is in wild bloom, it came late and after the preceding year's extreme drought and heat, we savor long.
Understanding that this too shall pass, I stop, write it down, give thanks and carry on.
***(Consider following me on Instagram? It's a lovely way to keep up, grow friendship, and share community.)***