It’s a cool day, and the Christmas cacti who spend their summers on the front porch have decided to bud even before I’ve brought them into their winter home in the house. No way to put it off: fall is falling.
Gaudy blooms of late season flowers clash with the browns of decaying new-fallen leaves, downy milk weed tufts contrast with skeleton-like stalks carrying seedpods waiting for winter birds to find them. The summer birds have flown South, as have the luckiest Monarchs.
What is it that seems to be held to the center of me and reaching out at the same time, like my heart is attached to the world beyond me– to the birdsong, the dripping wet leaves after the much needed rain, the goats in the barn, the sky that opens and closes as I move among the trees. Faith is a word but it isn’t a thing. It is mysterious but nonetheless so very real. I see it as something held by someone in relation to something or someone else. Faith is an embrace.
The colors have only just begun, still lots of green out there, but I’ll be putting the heat on in the basement tonight. It’s the end of the 2025 Sourwood Forest residency season, but much will be going on here this winter as we make improvements to the place. We’re soon bringing in a new NuCamp travel trailer to serve as a third bedroom. (Pictures to come in November!) It will nestle into the shady front yard, near the newly sited “play shed”– another winter project, this rustic outbuilding will serve as a writing or meditation “out of the rain” hut and creative space for residents in 2026.
Faith is a verb. I’ll be faithing my way through these troubled times, remembering to keep my eyes on the trees, believing those who most need this place will find their way to Sourwood Forest in 2026. (To apply for a Sourwood Forest Residency, click here Application 2026)