I could walk a thousand miles and sing a thousand songs and each would mean something secret to someone else. The wind blows and change is upon me, something heavy but pressing me like a hug, not a vice. My dreams and desires tugged by a holy trinity profane, except it's not because the three created are of this world, made in the image of the Divine. The words like wine spill and drip, but from the mouths of spinning wives with wiles they spatter e'erwhere.

I am looking forward to my new space and my new responsibilities in Texas less than a month from now. I am becoming free and independent, but I already long to love. "Attention is love," a UU minister said Sunday at a really wonderful service I went to with good friends of mine out of town. Equally wonderful was the attention I gave and got from other friends nearby, the attention the sun gave me in the form of freckles, the branches I snipped and sawed in a sacrament of aid and nurturing and decluttering.

I feel there is a lot to say, but writing it down doesn't feel like the right way to get it out, somehow. These are the things I hint at in intimate conversation, but I'm not conversing with the people I most want to know my mind.

This summer will involve me doing a lot of work - at work, in my home, on myself. And I'll be listening to a LOT of music. I think that's part of what's felt off recently. Right now I'm craving The Allman Brothers and other southern outdoorsy summer nights sorts of bands.