There Will Be Blood
One may have a blazing hearth in one’s soul and yet no one ever comes to sit by it. Passers-by see only a wisp of smoke from the chimney and continue on their way. ~Vincent Van Gogh
I guess this is how I’ve been feeling lately. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the mysteries of farm life immensely. But I also really miss feeling love. Romantic love. Like where I can barely breathe. Like butterflies in my belly.
I won’t settle for anything less.
The Earth vibrated so largely the other night, I thought the world was coming to an end. And my thoughts went racing to hold each other, searching for what is purest, what is warm and what is best, and coming up empty.
I love my dogs my family my friends my life, but I can’t escape craving the phenomenon of being in love. Or being so connected to one human being that thousands can pass by your glance in your lifetime.
But I find a lot of pleasure in the dailies. Like wanting so badly to roll around in the soil just because my fingers come alive when turning. Or whiskey whiskey whiskey and improv songs with the harmonica and pals. My recent favorite has been having my family come out to the farm and let their hair sway in the wind of country living. It seems to have this immediate effect on people, when nature rules.
The ladies have given me my own section in their weekly newsletter. Andrea gave me this really great herb book and I’m overtaken with natural healing ideas. So now I talk weekly about herbs and what I’ve learned and what they’re good for. If any of you have any persisting ailments, write me a letter and I will give you the concoction for health. I think.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m really very content. But I feel lonesome sometimes.
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