Healing by way of water and trees

I made the trip up to Arcata this weekend, dogs and flying gecko and Kirsten in the Subaru. I wasn't feeling well, and Kirsten drove most of the way there. Besides the feeling I get that Kirsten's driving is subject to the gravitational force of trucks, I mostly relaxed, slept, and knit. The second half of the trip going north is always magical, whoever is driving. The ferns are lush and stretching out from the loam of the earth, Redwoods racing their sisters and brothers to the sun, soaking up life-giving water from the fog. It is quiet, so quiet, but so magical.

We took the dogs to the beach, and they ran and played in the water. I quietly picked up rocks and stuck them in my pocket. I thought of the almost four years that have passed since bringing Kirsten up here for the first time, and all that had transpired between then and now.

When I go to Arcata, I must have coffee, the best coffee on the planet (so far) at Brio's on the square. I told Kirsten it was a good thing that I didn't live up there, for I'd have to go to Brio's every morning. Kirsten said it would be a good thing - the dogs could go with me and sit outside while I drank my coffee on the patio, and "wrote my book." That's what she said. I like that she pictures that.

Coming home this morning, I was lost in thought as I drove south through the beautiful trees, mist rising between the hills. The rivers called to me, and memories and thoughts of Peter sifted down through my body. The water and the mist and the trees ushered in gentle comfort. Carrying my bags into the house, the reality of Peter's absence jabbed at me a bit. I missed my family.

Daniel then called, and then Roberta. I squealed loudly for both of them. I talked to Kirsten, made lefse with a friend whose mom and dad were visiting from Minnesota, and then came home and watched Sweet Land while eating fresh lefse. I cried and cried at the end of the movie.

It was a good weekend, and a good day.

Kara