"i thank you god for this most amazing day.

for the leaping greenly spirits of trees,

and for the blue dream of sky and for

everything which is natural,

which is infinite, which is yes." -e. e. cummings

You sensed a shift a month or so ago. You're content, more accepting of imperfection, more accepting of yourself. Your clockwork SAD never visits this winter, in spite of the unseasonable cold. Is it because of counseling or essential oils? Is it the cumulative effort of undoing the lies and shame?

This past fall, you looked at your shortlist of travel destinations and started dreaming of who you'd visit over spring break. So many friends to see, so little time and even less money for airfare. You especially wanted to visit one friend on her fairytale farm but the odds of an affordable flight seem slim. You told yourself it would happen some day.

But the idea wouldn't leave you so you searched flights every so often. Just to see. Just in case. And then one January day, an option appeared and you booked it. No takebacks, airline! You and your friend were giddy over this turn of fortune. (Is this where the shift began? Perhaps this, alongside a slew of other unexpected gifts.)

Two nights before the trip, your friend texted you about expected snow. Oh, snow. But it wouldn't interfere with your flight and you suspected you could live with a ground covering.

"I think it will be good and healing for us to have this time together," you told her. You don't question the impressions and feelings regularly accompanying your day.

And it is indeed good and healing to spend the week at Storybook Farm.

Another friend picks you up from the airport. You talk about life while the car wends its way through country lanes. You pull up to the house and see the cow and her calf grazing. It's a beautiful reunion. The three of you can't stop laughing because you're finally together again. The next day she and her son head back home to Baltimore.

And then it's just you and your friend and her animals and her family. She welcomes you in to her world. Over the next few days you sip hot beverages and talk at various table for hours. Her cat, the one who doesn't like strangers, becomes your constant companion. One of her sons reads a book about sap and syrup to you. You watch her spin wool in to yarn and you see how very much this life suits her.

You never expected to like Virginia quite this much.

You speak truth over one another and when it is your turn to listen, you do your best to accept it. She calls out your most shining qualities. She says you are a balm. She repeats herself until you start to believe. You cry when her words particularly resonate but you do not apologize for your tears. You don't need to.

You are fully seen.

You are fully loved.

You don't have to be anything other than yourself. It is enough. You are enough.

A day or two before you leave, the snow melts and the ground is less muddy. It's in the 60s and the sun lights up everything around you. The grass is green and the sky whispers of spring. It is here. It is almost here.

The maple trees keep filling the jars with their sap. The sheep is about to birth a lamb. The chickens will hatch shortly after that. Farming speaks of seasons, of births, and of new beginnings. You realize you feel whole.

Maybe you have felt whole for a while but there it is, reflected in the eyes of your friend, in the ease of your smile. There's still work to be done, yes. But there is much to celebrate as well.

You add this trip to the list of extravagances from this past year. You stop wishing you had something to show for these beautiful gifts. This is the time to receive, to sit with hands cupped and grateful.

This is infinite. This is yes.

Linking up with my friends at LoveFeast Table for the Gathered Thoughts Party. You are invited to link up a Gathered Thoughts post at the LoveFeast Table Gathered Thoughts Link Party to win a 365 Gathered Thoughts Box of your own. Or leave a comment to win a set of spiral journal notebooks.  Head over there for more details.