Last year, Jane called this lull between Christmas and New Years, a Lullaby.
I called it, Accordian Time. I felt like I was a slinky, jumping up and down stairs, encircling slinky curls and folds in joy.
This year this week feels like a peaceful time, a time where dormancy wraps potential in spirals readying themselves to emerge from the earth. Jane and I can't escape the book now. It is beginning to evolve on its own, and we are trying to hold our own with it, to evolve in some way of companionship. As it takes on a life of its own, we do the same.
We are both with the book in this lullaby week, accordian time.
May you, too, be planting seeds for your dreams, and may they take off with the cheerful winks of the sun.
The wind is still blowing, and the sun is out, shining on all that's done.