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Our Origins

And we pray, not for new
earth or heaven,
but to be quiet in heart, and in eye clear.
What we need is here.

-Wendell Berry


If you could hear the silence that I’m sitting in. Still. Soft. I almost forgot that such quiet exists. The boys are at school today. Their first day back. It was an emotional morning for all of us, one that only months of being so close together can bring, where we all wanted to be apart but still near. Owen was worried that he’d be lonely at school. Myles was worried that he’d get picked on while riding the bus. I worried that they’d get homesick. But here I am. In the quiet. Ruby is napping. My mind can wonder; I wonder how they’re doing.

here i am. I am in Virginia. The place where I was made and have made myself in the world. I see the creek out of my window that pulls out and pushes in slow over its muddy banks and up to the top of the bulkhead. My sons walk outside and down the sidewalk towards their bus stop, readying to push out with the distant tide that will take them to their own here. I hope their here is here. With me. Where my sighs breathe out of the ground, in and out with the tide. Washing words on the muddy banks of our home and belonging, the songs of the osprey, who calls out in a voice over glassy water, perched high in its pine towards the east, words that fly to the banks of their origin.

 

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