Welcome, time traveler, to an enchanted attic at the dawn of spring, on the heels of the season of love. Come. Have a seat by the window and a cup of hot peach tea. I have empathy for you, tired darling. Trying to operate incognito as a beam of light in a strange and sometimes unkind world is no small task—but peach tea does make it better. Trust me on that one.
I’ve been thinking about love a lot lately. Not so much pink hearts and roses, but all the ways it drives us forward. The force that through the green fuse drives the flower. And equally how it drives us crazy.
Love, lately, has been calling forth hot tears and even hotter wrath. Bringing out the fight in me, the brave in me, the soft in me, the best in me. It’s the kind of love that makes me go to bed early and get up early and focus all my attention on very small things. Acts of service as a humble offering to a much bigger something. Love like that is a clean burning fuel. Love is the act of recognizing sacredness, in ourselves and in others and in everything around us. And despite all the clichés, I think this kind of love really could conquer all, should we give it a chance.
So. Let’s settle in. The attic has much to say about love.
