Recently I've had the lowest lows I've felt in years. Feelings of loss, change, and that nothing matters have hung over me. I can only describe this as a flat nothingness, and it has taken me down these past few weeks. I know there are a zillion things more important than my feelings, and I'm not completely comfortable sharing, but something about admitting it here helps. It's the truth of where I've been lately. 

In recent days I've begun to feel far better, and for that I am so grateful. I decided to check back in here today after taking a hike and a few pictures at Silver Falls and feeling a spark again. The leaves hadn't turned as much as usual by this time of year, a couple of the waterfalls were completely dry, and it was so warm it felt wrong, but there's nothing that affects the spirit like a walk in the wild, and I came away heart-soothed, remembering that there is so much beauty in this world and much to be thankful for. My walking practice fell off some over these last low weeks, but this week I'm getting back to this daily ritual with the enthusiasm I had before. What better medicine is there, after all, than getting outside and accepting all the gifts that nature and movement offer body, mind, and soul?

slow notes:  

It hasn't felt very autumnal with our 85-degree weather, but I'm in nest mode anyway, and one aspect of that is making stews. I keep going back to The First Mess:

Read recently:  

I find I'm reading more and more poetry. I don't know much about what makes an academically good poem, but I do know how certain poems feel - like they've given that twisting tornado in my chest words.  

Currently on my table are some Native Nations anthologies (and books of native art, which is really poetry, too), and I am in love with Tom Hirons' new poem, A Party For the Broken. I don't see it on his website yet but you can read it on Instagram, @bearspeakstothestars. 

It begins:

"Tonight we will have a party 
Only for the broken pieces
Only the crooked and the blunt ones 
Are welcome tonight..." 

I think I'd feel at home there.

by mlekoshi