I am supposed to be writing a paper on H.D.'s The Walls Do Not Fall but I do not really care about the way section six and seven speak to her identity, about why she chooses to be a water mollusk and then a worm, about the characteristics of a woman epic or a woman war poet, or a woman at all.

Instead I am sitting in my favorite blue chair, wearing my new top and drinking a wild cherry pepsi like it's good for me.  So good, I'm on number five.  

It is beautiful here, really beautiful.  The weather has been just perfect and the trees are tall and old on my street.  The windows are bare because what's outside them is the best part of my room.  There is something steadying about trees and cooler wind, something that makes you stiffen into yourself, really hold your shape.

Last night I flew home from class, starving, relieved to be done for the week. I turned pandora up, singing while I worked on a glass of wine and dinner.  And while I was eating, I realized my whole body had been hungry, my heart, my soul, my eyes.  Life goes so quickly, too quickly and there is some part of me that craves to be still, to stand in a kitchen for a while, to sit at a table, to have a conversation and then to circle up in a dim room with the day's thoughts and my God.

Some days I need touch more than anything and life has a different weight to it.  On others, smell knocks me off my feet, sends me reeling back, rushes memories at me.  And then there was last night, one of those nights when all my senses roared, demanded some attention and pushed against the edges of my humanity.

He's teaching me about what it means to walk with Him.  He's moving me through the old stories, the verses in my journey, giving me new ones.  And I am learning. To think back on past loves, to celebrate the present ones, and to dream intensely about what He's promised me.

To learn what it means to say to a person, "I am with you heart and soul.  Do all that is in your heart."