I've been back for days, but I'm not really here. I'm still up there in the mountains... still on that porch, in one of those green rocking chairs, tucked behind the tall trees, listening to the sound of the creek below, and the kids and the crickets and cicadas.
My thoughts have run wild and refuse to coalesce. I trust they'll come together sooner or later. They always do. In the meantime, I'm attending to chores, weeding the overgrown herb beds in my yard, preparing meals. Washing dishes. Drinking tea and more tea. Humming a tune.
Do these things with care, say the trees and the creek and the cicadas, and let that be enough.