Harvest

Hello friends. We are having quite a summer, aren’t we?

Today is the first time in weeks that I have been able to shape my feelings into words. I wrote a poem of hope and belief. Like always, faith in the future is a choice.

Willing courage feels a lot like when you experience a universal rite of passage, after which you have more understanding of the world, and the people in it. As someone with CPTSD, right now every glimpse at the world is triggering.

But I have seen my reality fall apart, several times.

I will tell you this. Every time I have lost it all, woken up numb and bereft, and started again, the new life was rich and full and better than the one that burned.

I recently went to the Pacific Palisades to visit friends whose house was one of a handful that did not immolate in the wildfires, while all their neighbors’ did. The hills were bursting with green under the black.

We are going to make this place a paradise. But to do so will take everything we have, and we will not be the same afterwards. You know this already. We are in this together.

I’m sending you best wishes for the final days of summer. Fall is a harvesting season. Let’s get after it.