I love waterfalls. I love the look of that water turned miraculously white pouring over the hardness of stone that gives way by millimeters with time and constancy. I love the feel of that fine spray painting my skin with the glitter of hydrogen and oxygen. But mostly, I love the sound – that roar of rushing water that quells frenzied thoughts and buoys some part of me that lives just behind my fourth rib.

Today, I wish I could be at a waterfall.

Things with the farm have gotten very complicated – complicated in ways I do not understand, in ways that cause me to doubt the work of people I have entrusted, in ways that make me doubt. Yesterday, my lawyer suggested we let the property go to foreclosure; today, my realtor is sending me other properties to consider. I am a little heartbroken.

Last night, I had a beautiful, painful conversation with a wonderful man whose friendship I value profoundly and who has been nothing but respectful, kind, and caring to me. Yet, my feelings do not reciprocate the way of his. I am a little heartbroken.

Today’s my father’s birthday. Mom is not here for him. I am a little heartbroken.

Sometimes it seems to me the world is so heartbroken that it’s a wonder that we still love and trust and heal at all.

Then, I remember the way putting words on the page stitches me up, the way that tiny blots of ink etch away at the pain and the heartbreak, the way that sentences can glitter everything with just a tiny bit more light.

I remember waterfalls and words, and I take my grace there.