As a child I thought everyone saw the world the way I do: ephemeral, ethereal, intangible, hardly there at all really unless you gripped on tightly with both hands. There was only a light gauzy veil between the worlds & it was possible, sometimes, to catch enticing glimpses of what lies beyond.

  I have never liked cities because they shut out the thin places, weighing them down with concrete & steel, till the veil is heavy & the other hidden from view.

I choose to live in a thin place, not only because it is beautiful & one can hear oneself think, but because the other is so very close in the ordinary, every day things ~ & we are very ordinary. We keep chooks & cats.  We grow vegetables & air plants, elks & staghorns.  Our house is unfinished & our garden a jungle. Wallabies roam the beach & songbirds chatter about the bird baths.  And we have children.  The ones we own are big now but they have their own children & we begin again the cycle of the days of small things: lifting small bodies to feel for warm eggs under feathered bodies; nipping baby beans of sturdy plants to eat raw & green & sharp with taste; scattering seed ~ for the chickens, for the little wild birds, for the half tame wildlings that know here there is safety & water & shelter from the storm; cats by the fire & sturdy chairs to stand on to learn the art of kneading dough for bread or making enough cookies for everyone.

More & more I care less & less for the world beyond these small things.  Too much of angst.  Too much anger.  Enough hatred to sink the ship. But within, all is serene. The Prince of Peace reigns eternal & the good things His hands made are here to be loved & enjoyed by all who may.