simple days with bonnie rae

I have not written yet this year. It is nearly august and the pages are blank. I was just telling sister that it is too hot to write. My thoughts and words are tangled up in sweat and popsicle melt and oppressive heat.

I’m so happy. Tan and full and lucky. But I still feel restless. There’s something in me that will forever want to shed off everything and run wild in the forest. I want to brew potions and garden and bathe in the river. I want to dance naked near flames.

There’s beauty in this life that is so rich and fun and full and deep, but can you hear the wild calling? I hear her right before my first sip of wine, calling me home. I hear her at work when the numbers and the data and the responsibilities become so self important I want to laugh. I would shock my coworkers with wild laughter and reckless words and abandon. But I don’t.

I hear her when I watch my baby and my friend’s babies laugh and play together. Can’t we do this everyday? Aren’t we supposed to be a group of mothers together? All barefoot and tan and laughing and full watching and holding our babies?

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. So separate and apart. I miss you. I love your voice messages and texts. I love sending silly and beautiful gifts to surprise. But I miss you. I want a village with you. I want to gather up all the babies and women and pets and to plop down on land that we pour into with love and gratitude and the land loves us in return.

There’s beauty to be found sure, but wasn’t it all supposed to be more beautiful than this? It could be. It could be.

More soon,

Bonnie Rae xx

Things that remind me of the wild:

This book.

“The doors to the world of the wild Self are few but precious. If you have a deep scar, that is a door, if you have an old, old story, that is a door. If you love the sky and the water so much you almost cannot bear it, that is a door. If you yearn for a deeper life, a full life, a sane life, that is a door.“