nourishing the starving soul

on waiting to close my business and begin recovery from seven years of burnout

A jar of stones (and driftwood and shells and tea fortunes) sitting on my writing desk. My wife made the little butterfly for me for my birthday last year—she is emerging from her cocoon.

Seventeen days from this writing, the driver of a flatbed delivery truck will meet me, my wife, Ellen, and the Airstream project we’ve been working on for the last two …