I traveled to Taos in June with the sweetest little handmade journal. I had high desert daydreams about all that I would capture in pen, pencil and paint upon its hand-folded Fabriano pages. Despite big plans, best intentions and the embarrassing fact that I was there for a sketchbook journaling workshop, I only drew three times in that wee book. By "in that wee book," I mean "total." Three sketches. The whole trip.
Granted, I wasn't there for the purpose of filling my own journal but rather in a support capacity to the students, their teacher and the workshop as a whole. The days were lengthy, luscious and active. All that caught my eye imprinted itself upon my memory rather than within the pages of my book. Treasured all the same, but now, with time, harder to retrieve.
But I'm going back.
The last of the reservations were made today for my next visit to Taos in late October. I'm pinching myself at the prospect of introducing a dear friend to this heart home of mine. She has no idea that conditions are favorable for having her soul furniture rearranged. Our four full days there will be spacious with no firm plans but to savor. So I am taking the liberty of tucking this journal back into my travel bag, because I believe in second chances. (And, for the record, second chances for second chances, as may be required.)
For all of this, I am so deeply grateful.
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