Tick, tick, tick...

I like the image of the hourglass... each glittering crystal of sand flowing through the neck, sifting down to the bottom. You can watch time pass this way, and it seems a gentle thing, one grain at a time. The reality of time is much different than my sentimental constructions. It busts through the illusion and hits me with a two by four. Gravity's pull will not be stopped, and time is always running out. Out to where? I wonder. Just out.

The good news is: my list of things to do before I move is dwindling. That's progress. The gravel from the side of the house has been transferred to the steps that lead down to the duck pens. It will (hopefully) stay the mud slides from too much rain and winter snowmelts. The new Bluestone Farm and Learning Center logo is done and everyone seems to like it. That was a big one. But I have just begun the clearing out and sorting of file folders from all the graphics projects I'm responsible for. Those move with me now, every time I move.

The first year I moved from Melrose, I left behind a lot of things that were important to me. It was part and parcel of my vow of poverty. Some of them got tossed out by people who didn't know what they were, or didn't hold my same idea of "valuable". Now I know better. I take what's valuable to me... resources for art projects, craft tools that I brought with me into the community. It's a tough call sometimes. I weigh my vows against my need for necessary supplies to get the job done. Some people hoard precious books. I hoard exacto knives.

I leave soon for a week of rest time with my older son and his family. My grandson, who I've not seen in over six years, will be there too. I'm so looking forward to the trip, to reconnecting with each one of them... but it comes smack dab in the middle of all this packing and throwing out. Keep breathing, I tell myself. It will all get done.