Assignment from nursing school; what is the language of your soul? 5/04
In which a 50-something woman embarks on a new career in nursing in a newly empty nest with a newly retired husband, an old cat, a yard full of chickens, a field full of predators, a shotgun and a sense of humor. She is blogging and slogging her way through a wet Pacific Northwest winter...and spring and summer and fall.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
The language of my soul
The language of my soul is spoken in babies' sighs and nuzzles against my breast, in a thousand inaudible words of love seen in the eyes of my graying husband. It sings in the wind on my face as I stand on a rimrock filling my lungs. It whispers quietly by on the bow of my boat and between my trailing wet fingers. It hollers it's robust pride as I watch my son orchestrate daring complexities on the field with his wondrous young body. It swirls and twirls gracefully around the long strong limbs of my dancing daughter. It whispers in awed hushed wonder at my eldest navigating a vast technological world, a world I can neither comprehend or visit. It soothes me as I soothe others; my children, my husband, my friends, my patients. As I help them, I help myself, and I feel whole.
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