girlfriend shennanigans

I'm not sure how I would have made it through this Mamahood journey without a few things.  Number one would have to be my husband.  He's back after eight days away and we are all so much more grounded, so much more our best selves.  With him gone, though, it's my girlfriends who keep me totally sane.  They are there to hear all my ridiculousness, all my whines, all my frustrations.  They are here to foster my shiny goodness.  They keep my feet firmly rooted to the earth.  Or, as the case may be last weekend, to the river.  Thank you, beauties.  Thank you for including me in your adventures.  I'm sort of addicted to my little poetry journal right now.  Here are a few thoughts from my weekend adventure on the Blackfoot.

 It's vast here
the sky an impossible blue.
Off in the distance
dust rises like fire
frm a black pickup on
an old road.
Dust to fire to breath.
If it were cooler, perhaps mist,
but on this impossible
late June morning
the bunch grasses sing
like a plump ladies chorus,
the lavendar lupine
and black-eyed Susans
dot the stage like guest stars,
wild roses of the deepest pink
mingle like the elite on the perifery.

I'm perched on a scratchy, mossy

boulder in the center of it all,

not quite ready to socialize,

not quite ready to 

break myself open,

even if it's just a little piece,

for the world today.

This circle of trees around me,

impossible mountains.

 

What do I hold sacred?
This bend in the river
the twist, the shifts that
pull downstream
feet push forward
cold washes over my head, my ears.
For a minute,
all is wild, a rush,
until I plant my feet again,
stand tall in my strong body
smile like a girl
and walk up the bank to do it again.

This near island home,
rocks beneath me,
water surrounds me,
a few, most perfect provisions,
a chilled pineapple slice,
dark, hot coffee,
another cut of salty cheese.

I never would have thought
that I could have this.
My six-lane highway life,
all chaos and dance studios,
cars and air-conditioned
department stores.

This move to the primitive
one tent
one boat
one small bag with
all I'd ever need.

                                                                            

And the feeling of being on the                                               
river all day,
just a raft                                                                                       

filled with words,   

the depths and truths of 

beautiful friends,

all candid and sincere,
all laughter and goofiness.















We watch the river as
it changes,
the spurts of white water,
we read each moment,
as present as ever.