Today has been busy so far as I work on domestic projects. While crawling about on the floor with patterns and fabric I realize there are so many other things I would rather be doing and how much I dislike tedious things. It was a noble thought, making something by hand for my son. It is coming along and I have every hope it will be done in a day. Oh but I would rather write these words, and bury myself in the four books now sitting at my bedside. I would rather float away in thought and drift in meditation. The new moon approaches and I feel myself pulled to things in a way I have not felt in many months. This place has been lonely for me and I can now say out loud, I have not been happy here. I am certain my writing reflected that unhappiness more than once. It is lovely, quiet and all the things it should be I suppose, and I was trying with all my might to feel home. There was a guilt associated with my feelings and so I found them difficult to share. After all, when times are so difficult how dare I not appreciate what I have. Perhaps it has been the lack of time or privacy that stirs these feelings, my need for a place all my own where I can wander and weave the words that have so often deserted me.
Now with the approach of the new moon, it is coming back a bit, that feeling of home and I am finding an energy I have missed for many long months. There is a motivation where there was none and the voice of those who speak to my soul is growing ever stronger. With that voice comes the words once again as it has been since I first found those words some three years ago.
Alas, the project calls and I must answer. There are no elves to come in the night and sew this for me, or the fabric soon to arrive at my door. Next time I must stop myself and listen.