In the summertime

In the summertime
our home becomes a place for travelers,
a grill full of food,
a hallway full of shoes,
dirty feet and
dirty towels,
energy from all over the map.

Cousins squeal and mingle,
their eyes light and clear,
our histories so obvious,
so passed along.
I see myself in the road trip
of my nephew,
see myself in how,
at twenty-three,
who you are becomes clear,
what you value,
what you want to see,
how you will be
in the world.

We flipped through the old photo book
and I laughed
because I don't really feel
that different at all,
though the lines now indicate
the complexity of the journey,
I still love to sit on a quiet beach,
stay up late talking,
watch the way the sun
dances on water,
watch the way
we see with
pure love.

Eliana, at seven

Gratitude graces the clouds this morning.
There's a breeze, there is gray and white,
the leaves are singing a song of relief from
yesterday's heat.  Families float lazily down the
Blackfoot, the river a cool fluidity,
a gift we can't believe
we waited this long to experience.
On the top of a mountain a little girl breaks open
a butterfly pinata, the Beargrass billows,belts
her party song, white and holy.
I sit on the chairlift and point out Indian Paintbrush and
Lupine -- she can't believe how high we are, how we've
become part of the mountains,
more than mountains.
A fist on lollipops,
we circle up,
celebrate the space,
the quiet,
the seasons and years that continue to fall
before us like a new melody,
another song
that is even better than the one before.

feeling young

One of the best things about summer is that it feels so carefree.  Each day sort of ambles into the next, a litany of sweet simplicities -- lazy mornings, watering the garden, smoothies and snacks.  I took my carefree one step further by meeting my boyfriend Michael Franti in a giant field behind the airport.  He sang soft and acoustic while I did sun salutations.  He spotted people in headstands.  His savasana words and tunes were a taste of absolute perfection. 

I was there alone.  On my mat alone, but surrounded by so much love.  So much youthful and positive energy.  As the yoga session morphed into a concert, each new band that took the stage impacted me in some way.  I was able to focus and listen and dance with abandon, dance with my body loose and light.  There was this couple that was in for the long haul with me.  They were probably in their early sixties, funky hats and leathered skin.   When Franti finally performed his set with the band, I watched them slow dancing on their little yoga mat, all young love and real promises. 

I thought of my husband and wished that he had sprung for the 50 dollar ticket so that we could have mat-danced together.  I thought of my kiddos and how someday, I will bring them to a show with me.  For now, I feel almost too selfish.  Like I don't want any of their needs or discontents to mess with my moves, with my ability to fully focus and embrace my inner groove.  Eliana told me this morning that rock concerts weren't really for her.  So that works for now.  Jeffy hates the heat.  Kids aren't into the loud music.  For now, I hold the music for myself, for remembering the capacities of my shoulders and neck and hips, how good it feels to really let go.