Some days, some seasons, I find myself pulling toward something, someplace. It may be outward or inward, but the pull is almost gravitational. Now must be the season of my introverted self, and the home is my sun.
My to-do list is manageable, filled with much, of course, but the first half of the list are things to do around the house. Okay, really the list was just home tasks. My other obligations were brought to mind, too, though, so I added those. Most of what I am accomplishing are the home tasks. This feels right and good.
I figure I have to honor my body, heart and soul. As the house becomes filled with the fragrance of a wood-burning fireplace, I feel at home, at peace. I knit one of many rows in a Christmas gift and feel grounded. It’s not so much what I am doing as what I am being.
At least for now, I am being home.