It was an Italian woman who sent a message to me in France,  after purchasing a picture of mine in the USA — the piece, “On her way.” There are no barriers of language or obstacles of distance, when we speak and listen with the heart. 

Yesterday I bought wax to seal envelopes, with the symbol of a laurel. Knowing the words are indeed the laurels, the symbols of triumph, that we must never rest upon. It’s easy to forget about the handwritten letter, when it’s so simple to text, to email, or to do nothing at all. And I am just as guilty. Oh, I still wish for the letter each day as I head to the mailbox. But it’s rare that I send one. But I was fueled by the words in Italian and French and English and I was indeed on my way. Laurels at hand and heart.

I need to do it more often. It feels so good. To take the time. I smiled seeing the dancer on the front of my card, picturing her at her recital. Tickled when I found the purple marker, recalling the color of her bedroom walls. Writing slowly without distortion, knowing she would be sounding out the words in English, her newly second language. Heating the wax. Pressing in the laurel. Walking to the mailbox, just after the untimely rain. My heart was on its way.

I like it when you tell me that you sit down each morning with your coffee. Open your tablet or phone, and read the words I have written. In a sea of posts that are meant to offend and humiliate, to separate and push, please know that my effort is always meant to include and gather, to connect and lift. I may not always succeed, (“get there” as they say), but if you can see me, within the wax and the walk, you will know my heart is on the way.