Praising is What Matters! -- Rilke

To wake to coffee and banana bread (different than bandana bread, which is chewier).  There is almost nothing to do, and this is a new kind of abundance.

A little one, fierce and love-brimming creature, continues to teach me the gentle heart and walk softly and see it through her eyes.  Dance wild.  Speak always comfort.

Fragrant grass newly cut and a windmill spinning gray metal in the silent eye of peace.  The earth meets my back, and Nora stretches young beside me.   Piggy back rides as we consider the fruits.  I'm in Eden.

Late night sitting on the steps.  The trees breathe green ocean waves and surging.  There's Cassiopeia.  A frog jumps on my back.  Jumps off.  I don't panic.  All is gift.  I pick the dead blooms from the pansies.

When we talk of families and the different configurations, she says she'd like to have a husband who lives with her.  "I want this for you, too, Nora."  "And maybe if there's a daddy who doesn't have a mommy and a mommy who doesn't have a daddy, they could love each other and come together."  She presses the palms of her hands together.  We're playing Barbies, the house Grandma and Aunt Dottie made for me back in the '80s set up between us.  "And what would you think if I met a daddy who didn't have a mommy and he had lots of kids?"  There is a light in her, and she sits up straighter.  "I would love that.  I would have lots of kids to play with, and you could do laundry together and cook all of us food to eat."  

A light burns from the cottage I see through the dark forest, has burned forever, and I'm wandering home heavy and educated.  He left it glowing.  This long.  I pull my blanket closer around me and step inside for good this time.  This rain has been falling for ages, I think.  The trees are tired of my wandering.

Reconciliation:  to bring into harmony.

Hall and Oates.  Yes.  I'm serious.  They were great.