What does it mean to be a woman? I'm embarking on search to describe what it means to me. It's who I am, but who is that? How do I fit in this puzzle of culture and family?
I'm writing this as a question to you readers of mine who share this identity. Tell me who you are.
What are your deepest desires and aspirations?
Where is your heart, and how do you listen to it?
What fulfills you, moves you, inspires you, frees you?
Share your loves.
Well, here I am, finally. This won't be much, and I'll probably rarely have time to post anything, but please be welcome to these scribblings of my life. I love to write, and a blog is a great excuse to do so.
I want you to know why I'm calling it Music of the Trees. A long time ago, in a small cove of the forest in a quaint New Jersey neighborhood, a girl who loved nature wrote her little sister a poem. Here it is:
See the Music
See the music of the hills
Who, each without speaking silently fills
Our hearts with glad exultant thrills.
See the music of the trees
Who, whispering softly in the breeze
Sing to us of wonderful things.
See the music of each flower
Who rains on our souls with quiet power
Drops of a blissful heavenly shower.
See the music of his face
Who, by his perfect love and grace
Set each silent song in place.
I'm the little sister. I love trees. I spent my childhood climbing them, and will still happily do so when I find a good one. That poem was very likely written in one.
Trees are strong, and they inspire strength. I can sway in the breeze at the top of a tree and feel safe. Trees are full of life; their own and the life blossoming in them and around them. Trees are beautiful. God speaks to my heart through trees. Trees sing of wonderful things.
In all the craziness of life, I need to stop.
And listen to the music.
The trees whispering in the breeze, the rain, my baby's breath, my heart. These things keep desire and love alive in me. I need them. Come, be silent, and listen with me.
coming soon...Maggie's birth story.