Asheville

Well, I am in one of my favorite places on this wide earth. For a few days I get to shove my book deadline aside and breathe again. I’m still working, ghostwriting on one of my mom’s books, but it is incredibly easier to write stuff for other people, a great paradox of artistry. My mom and I started coming to this artsy, mountain blessed town about five years ago and fell into an unexpected love for it. A hysterical story (which deserves a better telling than I currently have to give) landed us at an old B&B called the Wright Inn, which the owner loved since we were there to write (you know, “writers” at the “Wright” inn…) Since then, we’ve come back two or three times and now feel that this is a sort of alternate, perhaps ideal, home.

I don’t know why I love it here so much; it is an inexplicable weaving of fondness made up of nature love (the blue wreathed mountains and the forests, and the barren trees in winter…), a delight in the artsy nooks and gourmet corners all around town, my downright affection for the old neighborhood here with its gigantic old houses with their beveled glass windows. I don’t know; there’s just a tang of artistry, a flavor of beauty and life lived well, and slowly, that we enter when we visit. Sometimes its hard to be quiet, to rest at home. Here, I can allow myself a better, deeper breath (of blue spring air no less). Long, long walks in frosty twilights midst the shadow of long-lived houses. Lingering breakfasts at a corner, organic cafe with the matchless name of Honey Tupelo’s. Prayer; slowly, sweetly thought and lifted up to this very kind God who brought me here for these days.

Ahhh. And anyway. I’m brewing up a good post on God’s love. I’ve been stewing on it for days and there’s finally a gathering coherency to my thoughts. So I’ll write again soon. But for now, I bid you a lovely good evening from the twilight of the Wright House in old Asheville. The stars are just beginning to sing…