Farmer's Market

Sometimes it may seem that your life is falling apart. Sometimes things are being reconstructed in a way you hadn't thought to think of. Maybe what you thought could only be sand, is sand shifting and changing to build a castle, even though it feels like an earthquake at the time.

Maine was a place I loved twenty years ago, when I worked as a waitress during summer breaks while in college. It was the place that called to me when it felt that everything in my life was changing at once. Sometimes it's only when things fall apart that we begin to truly listen. On sleepless nights in the desert the sea whispered, "Come to me, be near my glittery body, watch my birds and seals and shells, my pine trees and tides. We are here still. Be near me again, come to me."

So I did. The farmer's market was on Friday mornings and I climbed the long hill for fresh bread and strawberries and cheese and chocolate. With these small rituals and delights I began to feel whole again.