bird song

photo by Ronaldo de Oliveira

There’s more than one way to signify the end of summer. Some mark the seasonal shift by the Autumnal Equinox or the academic calendar; others feel the crispness in the air beginning to make itself known beneath the still-bright sun, nudging us to notice that sweater weather is here. I experience the time most through closing my cottage on Monhegan, saying farewell to friends, taking the boat into Port Clyde, then driving the eight-plus hours back to Rochester to return to my life inshore into the welcoming arms of my sweetheart and a dog named Gertie.

Yesterday, I awoke convinced I was still on island. The early light at the foot of our bed felt so familiar to where I had just been until my eyes began to adjust. I could hear the faint hum of white noise rather than of the water moving through the harbor, and in these liminal moments, I began to listen to the lilt of birds, calling me to remember the ways home is not as much fixed as a place but in how I feel within the graciousness of my heart.

Bird song.

I left Monhegan with more uncertainty than usual. The flutter began before I had begun to pack—news that a fire had devastated the working harbor of Port Clyde, the lifeline and only year-round boat to the island, causing immeasurable loss of property and tradition, although fortunately not to life.

While you never know what awaits off island, there is always a sense of familiarity when you see the wharf in the distance humming with activity. Not this time. The hush on the boat held the tragedy and the tenacity in knowing that the port would be rebuilt and things would never be the same.

I’m also in the midst of an odyssey with my parents, who are currently traveling overseas, because my father tested positive for COVID-19, throwing a wrench into everything. After a few tense days of texting, I’m hopeful we are also on the other side of that adventure.

How do we learn to trust that even when everything looks and feels different, it’s precisely as it’s supposed to be?

Sometimes, we can only put one foot in front of the other. Do the next right thing. Make a donation and assist in what was lost in a fire. Try not to panic over a medical situation you cannot control. We never know what the day might bring, but we can show up and listen.

Bird song.

So, I’m back in Rochester with whatever comes next. For now, that means a lot of walking for Gertie, who allegedly has decided she prefers to ride in the car head out the window more than to put her four feet on the pavement. We shall see.

There wasn’t a lot of food in the pantry, so last night John and I made a mash-up meal of kimchi fried rice, each contributing what we had to offer. You can guess who contributed what to the plate. It may not have been what I was planning, but it was deliciously what it was supposed to be all the same.

Thanks for reading—I hope you may find the same in your week ahead!

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UPCOMING ~ SAVE THE DATE!

The Hidden Heart Retreat • February 1-4, 2024 • Finger Lakes, NY

Join Heidi Kroft & Sarah Webb for a weekend of discovery as we listen to our heart whisperings in beauty and bravery through yoga, meditation, and creative journaling.

I recently had the distinction to be interviewed by the marvelous MaryJayne Waddell for her podcast, The Youthful Older Yogi. Listen to our conversation about uniting our passions, finding our core gifts, how retreats and retreating from the daily grind are necessary, and what the heck is narrative medicine all about here. Thanks MJ!!

if you enjoy this newsletter i’d love it if you spread the word or click the ♥️ and leave a comment so we can grow & get to know one another in community. my deepest gratitude to all who are already sharing, liking, recommending, and restacking narrative threads: from breath to pen.