flowers gathered, and home again

I left you in the morning, 
And in the morning glow 
You walked a way beside me
To make me sad to go.
Do you know me in the gloaming,
Gaunt and dusty gray with roaming?
Are you dumb because you know me not,
Or dumb because you know?
All for me? And not a question
For the faded flowers gay
That could take me from beside you
For the ages of a day?
They are yours, and be the measure
Of their worth for you to treasure, 
The measure of the little while
That I've been long away.

.................................Robert Frost

And so I'm home. My little brick and sea-washed world is full of rain. Quiet wraps around the cottage and in my heart. I have been in a place of high winds, old trees, daisy fields, and there was much goodness to be found there, but ultimately there's nothing quite like the snugness of your own place in the world, even if you aren't always fond of it.

I must confess that I haven't missed blogging. All my words have been gentled this past year, and finding enough, with enough strength, to share on my weblog has been difficult. But I shall persist, whether it ends up being in this place or through my e-letter.

First, though, I will settle into being close again to the ground, to the ocean and the smell of ocean, the smell of hearthfire smoke, the quiet.