Through the tiny kitchen with our food

Dora and Leo are here, Dora made miso soup and delicatas for dinner, I did dishes, Bebe amazed us all by her fascinating processing and enthusiasm. It was just like being back at the farm.

At the training I thought often of my Humboldt family, missing them with a sense of magnetism I was sure they felt. I spoke to Em and Nick, Bucket and Dora Saturday night as soon as I left the hills and it was true.  We felt what we thought we felt.  That is the thing about California, there are already bodies here washed through with love for one another so strong it will forever be home.  

Dora and Leo are going to Hawaii in the middle of February, meandering slowly to San Diego than back before then.  Mo's in Nevada City with her honey, Jon's sitting meditation at Joshua Tree.  I am eager to see all the rest.  Which is not to say I am elsewhere uneager:  the rainy season is here, the river is fast and brown, the tires make the wet noise on the air.  We drink hot soup from bowls and I hunker in cafe corners, writing poems.  I have a whole new family, my fairies in the Cazadero hills, my mama mentor who Starhawk will now forever be.  There is so much to do.  A whole book to write.  Southern California beckons.  We circle around one another in Bebe's little cottage, circle round the woodstove, the loft, through the tiny kitchen with our food.  We meet in the hot tub, text one another what's next in the rounds.

The circles look like rainbows to me in the North California mist.  It all feels so good.