We drove up, up, up on winding roads in moving fog. We ascended so high into mountains that a lake of clouds lay beneath. We visited Mountainside on the mountainside and saw some friends I had forgotten to remember lately. We followed trails through the woods, asking each other what the other would do if they were in the Hunger Games, and we got a little sunburned. We got lost in a labyrinth of colored string and left with a bag of yarn and stories of French Huguenots and abandoned "ghost families." Lakeside, we took note of everything and peace was near in gentle waves and swimming mallard ducks and the sweetest breeze that dances with your hair. We ate the most delicious Himalayan food I have tasted in thirty years of life. And we drove, down, down the winding roads in setting sun, back to home to sleep in our own bed.

big bear, calif.
© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

Deciding to take a day off and go away together
is taking all the heaviness of the last few weeks,
and lifting pieces away and away and away,
until it is only me left again so that I can enjoy us.

© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

Today, I wish to be very small and stand beneath

green ivy as if it were a jungle canopy above my head.

© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

 

 

© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

Sometimes, you just have to be brave and let people see your mind for a moment even if it's not what they might expect or want. Even when you know how it sounds or that it might not do any good for understanding anything better. And maybe you'll never really be able to measure whether it did anything at all, but being truthful for your own sake is still meaningful and good.

Sometimes, you just have to be a little bit brave.

hermonville, france

© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

The initial goal was exercise.

The growing reality is that exploring the highlands north of our home each evening is pure enjoyment. Time outdoors together, presents us with a simple-yet-changing environment where intimacy and intentionality find their way between and around us. Along with it, are delightful words and carefree noticings. Light turns to dusk turns to night as we climb streets and hills, side by side, taking in the world and each other.

Perhaps this is how a routine becomes.

and how

© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

Today was spent amidst trees and light

at one of my favorite spots on this vast earth.

I wasn't expecting it because we were working,
but its vitality seeped in unobserved,
permeating and lifting us all.

lifting us all

© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

I can't decide if I'm cold or warm these days. There's been a bit too much coming at me all at once to tell. But, that's okay. I'll just keep a sweater at the ready. Lately, I've noticed that...

...taking a walk everyday feels incredibly good
...sometimes, I can wear green without looking jaundiced
...drinking really really cold water makes me happy
...I think Jason secretly wishes to be the sixth member of Pentatonix (so, Hextatonix???)
...setting actual Lacelit work hours for myself increases productivity and reduces interruptions
...the desire to choreograph will always rise up in me again eventually because it's part of me
...when we go on walks, I like to pseudo-house shop and Jason likes to borderline-trespass
...knitting can be a lovely way to spend an evening
...letting people go doesn't mean they won't return again

sharp and bright

© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

walk-taking weather:

crisp, cool temperatures and overcast skies. rain and mist are a plus.

pretty littles

© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

Round and round, I go

delving a bit further into concentrics

with some Lacelit fleurs this time.

round and round

© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

Tonight, we walked together all the way up into the highlands. It was lovely even though I got a little dizzy walking in the darkness for so long. Our footsteps traversed uneven sidewalks where tree roots had pushed up to find space and new light. The strength of roots amaze me.

What are your goals for the next five years? They don't have to be cemented goals. They can just be ideas. Swinging both arms back and forth, eyes taking in each house and yard and driveway as we passed by, he told me his and I told him mine.

A peacock called from one street over. The lamppost's dull halo hung midair, dust and moths moving in and out of the light. And I wondered what pictures might make up these coming years together.

life picture boxes (reims, france)

© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

I am trying to do things that are good for me. Like taking walks.

But, my feet didn't want to tread Monrovia's sidewalks today. So, I found myself in my old, childhood neighborhood nestled up against the foothills of the mountains in all their loveliness. Streets lined with old trees and one-of-a-kind houses with personalities and presence.

I recognized so many of them as I walked with my shadow along familiar roads and streets and courts and avenues. I remembered which houses had occupants who smiled at tiny uniformed Brownie Girl Scouts. I remembered the houses we avoided and the houses that scared me--they always had long, curving driveways with overgrown, unkempt plants or hedges that made it so you couldn't see the front door from the street.

I remember sweet Mrs. Moser with her cotton hair and her springed screen door that snapped back the second you let go. And the old man who lived on Holdman Avenue who had a really gruff voice and was missing two-thirds of his pointer finger. I remember watching his grease-covered hands as he gingerly filled out the cookie order form in all caps, wondering how he lost is finger and if it happened a very long time ago. I remember the family who had a lot of little kids and they were so busy that it always took at least 3 attempts before we found someone home in order to deliver their cookies. I remember the chipper elderly couple who ordered an entire case of Thin Mints every year. I remember how short she was and how tall he was, and how she always seemed to be wearing a teal velvet robe with a zipper that ran all the way down to the ground whenever we stopped by. And every year, they would tell us how they put the Thin Mints in the freezer and ate them all year long until we came back again.

I think I'll make a habit of these hometown walks. I expect they'll do me good.

walking memories

© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

This week was sad and frustrating and hard, but I was overwhelmed by some of the most wonderful people, and the ways they show care. Jason, Bryan, Phil, Euria, Katelyn, Kristen, Janice. Lasting comfort and understanding can come in the simplest forms of intentional time, asking questions, listening, and affirming words. And together-apart, they entwine to lift my spirits.

I am so thankful for true community, and the peace it brings to the worn, troubled heart.

photo taken by jason taylor-pestell

Ink tree branches and swirling bark can be a sustaining retreat
to take you away from deep thoughts and sorrow for a little while.

This tree is slowly but surely becoming the piece that will be included
in the Via Crucis art show for the Tribe of LA next month.

sustenance in ink and trees

© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved

Sometimes, when your heart is breaking,

there is solace to be found in
turning colors into lines.

turning colors into lines

© kimberly k. taylor-pestell, all rights reserved