I took a letter to the mailbox at twilight this evening. The air was cool and still and I was struck by the silence of our neighborhood.
Sometimes I think about what it means to live in a place. This is where we live. This is the building that we reside in. This is where we eat our food and sleep in our beds. This is where we have our stuff. Somehow I can't get past the feeling that even if we were the owners of our home, it would still feel a bit like camping. There is an impermanence that I can't seem to shake.
This is where you can find us on the planet.
This is where you can find Margot when she has finished with her dinner.
I feel like I could get lost in my own insignificance sometimes. The idea that I am so small, so duplicative. Just another female human, caring for her young. These thoughts lead me to stare off into space and ponder myself in relation to my dog, the fly that he is chasing, President Obama. I enjoy getting lost in such thoughts. I am humbled. I remember that despite my own self indulgence Jesus died for me. Me. He knows where to find me on the planet.