Outside, half-way up a mountain in Vermont, the thaw day turns into a freeze night with temperatures making a run for the single digits. The snow melt on top of deep snow turns to ice beneath the new flakes falling. Inside, the rocking chair where I sit faces an artful old lamp in the middle of a triangle-shaped room at Sara & Joseph’s home, an A-frame cabin with added-on rooms up and down, wide and deep.
Dark fills the windows, wind calls around us, and the wood stove in the basement sends up and out its steady hot breath. I listen to the quiet between wind gusts punctuated by occasional wind chimes, everything so peaceful after our wonderful meal of champagne, borscht, chicken and vegetables, and oranges. Gratitude rocks with me in this chair, a special award given to Joseph to honor his many years working with vision and heart for peace and justice. I am grateful to these friends and the years of such dinners we’ve spent in this living room, talking about our lives, how we’re really doing, the sorry and hopeful state of the world, and of course, the weather. No surprise that Vermonters talk as much about the weather as Kansans, but as I told Joseph, I wouldn’t trust people who don’t talk about the weather since weather tethers us to where we are.
I feel so at home that my mind can’t grasp how I woke up in Kansas this morning, stepping outside with only a sweater, wishing the kitties and dog goodbye, to come here. Taxi to airport to plane to terminal to tunnel to other terminal to other plane to taxi finally deposited me where the snow and land climb high but the people seem the same (except wearing more layers).
Now it’s time to dream my Vermont dreams, probably of Kansas, just as I often dream of Vermont in the weeks after I land back in Kansas. Two places sharing space in my sleep just as they do in my heart. Wishing all of you your own sweet dreams wherever you land or travel.
(Note: The rocker is a Vermont Folk Rocker, and it is the most beautiful rocker I’ve ever seen.)