Yesterday the bed frame went up, the cats roamed the box riddled apartment climbing to their heart content and we watched a movie on my laptop on our bed. I am so grateful for my bed and I know P is too. It's amazing how our own bed feels the best. I think the cats missed it, too. They were sleeping in it when we left this morning to drop P off to get picked up for work by a kind co-worker.
Our home has this beautiful sycamore tree growing up and over the loft porch. The leaves greeting my car each morning with stark yellow leaves. I wonder what magick properties this tree holds, but I have had a feeling of hope ever since I walked into this place. We never saw this place during the day before we decided to rent it. Why? I just knew, so did P. We were mean to live here in the valley full of goats, foxes, deer, horses, coyotes and the legendary mountain lion. The nature springs, brooks, the organic farm down the street, this is my heaven calling to me. The rain last night washed away the dust and cleansed my soul, not to mention my car. And the sycamore came to mind again, "symbolizes development, perseverance and vitality. They are often able to grow where no other tree can" , according to Morgan Lefay. Maybe I am a sycamore tree, a survivor, a pioneer.
