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I am UmberDove.

And by that, I mean an artist.  One who hears stories in the wind, who paints because it is what her soul tells her to do, who smiths because the muse moves through her fingertips, who loves nothing more than the promise of an unexplored trail, the sound of the ocean in her ears, and scent of a serious cup of coffee.




I found this nest last week, the day before I ventured cross-country, while hiking in the forest near my home.  In this case, I do use the term "hiking" quite loosely as I may have climbed those wooded hills while wearing a mini skirt and holding a freshly steamed latté.  But hiking it still was.

I was scuttling down a slope, flip flops covered in dust, and nearly put my eye out on the broken branch.
[sometimes the world needs to grab your attention]
[sometimes those gifts are simply meant to be]
Since then I've been thinking steadily on nesting.
We've now been in our new home almost six weeks; the space is filled with an easy comfort, the house seems to stretch and sigh in the summer light.  But I've been running far into our future, leaving my body lost and wandering in the present.  I've fallen in love with this small parcel of land, but have also recognized the breadth of what we've moved away from.  What pieces we've traded and bartered as we build our life together, as we strive to follow our dreams.  BC and I been talking extensively on five year goals, where we want to be, what we want for our days, how we want to live.  And between these talks and a slew of small traumas (the dog attack being by far the largest), I've forgot where I was.  Lost in the mirage of a future that does not yet exist, where burdens and stresses are a thing of the past, where every disparate place that I love seems to converge seamlessly into my idealized home.  

I had to look at my hands to see reality.

Here where my feet touch the earth and my lungs pull in damp air.

I have a great imagination and a penchant for day dreaming, but I want to reside in the now.  That other place, that future dream is too vanilla for me, too perfectly bland, too devoid of raw life.  I want to understand my present in all of its muddy, visceral, utterly beautiful ways because let's face it: none of us are guaranteed another day.  I want to dig in, breathe in, open my eyes wide, fling my arms open, plant my flag and claim this day for me.  For life.  For the present.  I want to look back at the history of my days and see ten thousand victory flags flying.

A triumph of life.
A life of triumph.

* * *

It's good to be home.
I believe it is an ever evolving art to reside in the present.  So tell me birds, how do you claim your space, your time, your life?