All week I struggled over whether or not to go to Doe Bay Fest this weekend. Saturday night campfires, bands we know and love, a long ferry ride, tall trees over the ocean, photo opportunities galore and several sweet friends who wanted very much to make the whole thing easy for me so I'd go. Why not?
NOT, though, that's where I landed. I had to feel my way through it, and clumsily, bumping into things as I went, making a chaotic mess of the last hours of the day yesterday. I guess it's about unpacking, and hanging art on the walls, and knowing where my clothes are, and why there isn't anything to speak of in the laundry pile, but even less in the drawers these days. Where did all my extra pillows go, and do I have fingernail clippers somewhere? Hair clips? Plastic sleeves for 35 mm film, where are those?
Also, it's about sitting on the lawn, or watching our kites lift off from the back field, higher than the trees that surround the farmhouse, all bright colors and optimism. That's the only place the weekend needs to go.