home away from home.

There is a home away from home. It's strange to think of having two homes, and it's even stranger to have your heart connected to two buildings, clear across the country from each other. This little home is unfinished. It has rough walls, and two-by-fours hanging low enough to bump your head on. The carpet is worn, and the corners lift up in places; in fact, it almost seems as if it is attempting to trip you on purpose. The screen doors slam vigorously behind you when you walk out on the rough grey lumber porch, and the side door doesn't shut all the way. It's the little things; sometimes the annoying things that make a house a home. And this little place--this little cabin in the 'woods--' is fast becoming just that. A home away from home.

and she remembered.

it was only the slightest touch
the softest squeeze of her hand
and it was faint
like a finger of thought
that sweeps along the edge
of your consciousness when 
you're asleep.

it was only the slightest touch,
but it reminded her of present days 
that were swiftly elapsing into the past.
it spoke of days under leafy bowers
and nights under inky skies sprinkled with stars, 
of days spent fishing in the deep, dark pools;
of lazy afternoons clasped in his arms.

of thick novels with dry, crumbling pages
that were devoured as they laughed and cried,
of gentle strains of music pouring from the
curtained windows as they danced in the rain.
it spoke of memories, of topics discussed,
of days without him when she drowned in tears
and wished he was with her still.

it bespoke silence, and it's presence
reminded her of loneliness. 
it brought back memories of all the epochs 
spent talking, reminiscing, and dreaming.
the light touch reminded her of all the hours,
the days, the moments, the laughter, the tears.
and she remembered. 

//mikailah lefevre 2013//

(not truly written from my own experiences; just bits and pieces of my nostalgic (and very romantic) heart speaking. ;))

P.S. Still in Ohio, friends, and having a hard time adjusting to the word 'Summer'. How can the passing of time be lumped into the words 'seasons'? All blogging is being done at the library, so not many pictures are getting posted (which is a problem, since my shutter finger hasn't stopped clicking since we arrived); so, now you are all getting swamped with my writings that have not been posted... from a lack of the "right time" or reluctance to share these bits of my heart on the internet. Ah, well. Such is life. ;) Be looking for many, many pictures in the future days! Love y'all.

--

Untitled, and yet not.

My whole world has changed over the past few weeks; not dramatically, or exceptionally, (except in the scenery) just quietly, slowly, and yet all at once. Whew, y'all. A few months ago, my family bought a little cabin in Ohio. I was born in Ohio, and moved to Arizona when I was three, however, yearly visits have been annual occurrences. We decided it would be nice (and necessary) to have a little place near our family where we could stay.

That little place is beautiful. Not beautiful in the exceptional, dashing way; but quietly so. It was rather dirty (think: mouse droppings. mmhmm.), and not a little cluttered, but it has transformed in the past week, so now it is lovely. It isn't finished, or refined, but it's livable, and for the time being, it's our little "Ohio home". I love the sound of that.

That should explain my long absence from my blog (even though there were 2 scheduled posts.), and it's good to be posting again. I can't promise anything regular, however, since our little cabin has no internet access, or cell-phone service. It's refreshing, though, to take a step back, and not be turning the computer on first thing in the morning. It is rejuvenating to be surrounded by green; seeing the deer eating in our yard, and the mist rising over the grass in the morning. The sun sinking red behind the rolling hills at night, and the silence; ah, the silence. Seeing my new nephew (Isaac LeFevre--there is importance in that. At least, for LeFevres. ;)), trying new things, and travel. Travel is always an adventure. It's been good.


How are you, friends? How are you really doing?

Much love to you all,
Mikailah

two places at once.

my heart
longs for the
exciting unknown;
for miles of blacktop
and hours of the license plate game.
it dreams of moments in airplanes;
minutes of watching scenery pass before
my eyes in silence, and thoughts
inspired by the word 'travel'.
my mind longs to learn new things,
to discover history and see with my own
eyes the places where history was born.
and yet, at the same time,
my heart is content at home,
not wanting to leave, and at the same time
straining against the barrier or 'normal'
and everyday life.
it desires adventure (yes, sometimes even danger)
and still wishes it could be found within a 2 mile radius
of where the strings are attached so firmly.
my heart enjoys peace and quiet,
the beauty and comforts of a place
called home, and yet still desires to wander
to a place where no one knows my name,
and where every face is a new imprint on my mind.
how can a heart long for, desire and dream
of two places at once?

//mikailah lefevre//

p.s. this is a scheduled post, just so ya know. right now, i'm on the road, on the way to Ohio. :) aren't adventures something glorious? xx.

just you wait.

via

"i'll never, ever marry," she said, 

as she sat on the worn wooden floor

with her curly brown head in her mother's lap.

she was 4, and the thought of leaving her mother

and father, who were as necessary to her as air

that filled her lungs, was unthinkable.

"i'm going to stay here, all my life, in the same room,

with the same sheets on my bed, and lacy curtains."

her mother smiled. "what if we move someday? what

will you do then?"

"we won't move," the child said simply. "we never have before."

the mother smiled, and pulled her fingers through the child's

nest of wind-blown curls and wispy flyways. 

her daughter's lacy nightgown tickled her feet

and the eyes that gazed into the distance were large

and full of dreams.

"just you wait, child," was all she said.

"i'll never marry," the 10 year old said,

as she laid her head on the faded white pillow

that had been made by her grandmother many years ago.

"why are you so sure about that?" her mother asked,

smoothing the quilt, and kissing her daughter's forehead.

"because people don't know how to really love,

so why should they get married?"

"do you know how to love?" the mother asked,

curious to hear the thoughts on such a weighty subject. 

"i don't know. maybe one day i'll find out."

"and if you do find out you know how to love,

will you still decide not to get married?"

the girl was silent. "i don't know, Mama. 

love isn't something to be commanded, or called.

it just has to come, and it has to be right."

"i can't argue with that," the mother said, smiling in the dark.

but in her head, she was thinking,

just you wait, child.

"i'm never getting married," the 16 year old sobbed,

as she cried out all her tears on her mother's shoulder.

tears caused by someone who was loved and 

cherished dearly.

someone who had walked out forever. 

"i know i've said it before, but i mean it now. it isn't worth it."

the mother was silent. she was older now; grey hairs had mingled

with the brown ones and the skin around her eyes was wrinkled and tired.

"i said that before i met your father," she said, softly caressing

the curly head.

"i had many heart-breaks; or what i thought was heartbreak. you'll

fall for someone many times, darling, but when you meet the right one,

love will be worth it, i promise." 

"maybe, Mama. some people find true love, but i don't believe i ever will."

"just you wait, child," the mother whispered. "just you wait."

"i can't believe i'm getting married," the 22 year old said softly

as she sat again at her mothers knee with her head in her lap.

"i said i never would over and over. i can't grasp the thought 

of leaving you, and this life forever."

tears gathered in the eyes of the mother, but she smiled.

"you aren't leaving me, child. you never will. your love 

has blossomed and grown, but the roots of your love will

always be here, with us, in this house with the faded sheets,

light strewn hallways and rooms jam packed with memories."

"you were right," her daughter said, after a moments silence.

"you always said, "just you wait", like you knew."

the mother smiled. "i didn't know. i just know how

the heart sometimes denies what it most longs for,

and turns away from what it needs the most. 

love is one of those things. it can make you weak,

or it will make you strong. if you've found the right kind, 

it will always make you strong."

//mikailah lefevre//

this is my home

This is my home. There isn't anything special; it isn't a two story farm house, or a lovely Colonial mansion; there are no vines climbing up the sides, or tall trees lining the driveway. The hardwood floors are usually smudged from (my) bare feet, water tracked in from outside and paw prints from the animals. The carpet is wearing out, the furniture is faded and kissed with sunlight the majority of the time. It isn't perfectly organized; there are books scattered on the couches and table, toys from nieces and nephew's visits still hide in cracks and crannies. Our house isn't anything spectacular; it is lived in, and well loved.

 A home isn't necessarily a place;  it is made home by the people who live there, the memories created, the moments remembered; but sometimes the littlest moments are things that stand out in our mind; things that become landmarks in our childhood; things that we think of when we hear the word 'home'.

Things like the chipping paint on the porch, the way the kitchen never sees the light of day, except on the smallest part of the floor in the early mornings. How the tile in our dining room is cracked, and how it squeaks and grates whenever someone walks over it. How our porch railing is wobbly, and the way the dandelion's overtake the small patches of grass in our yard. Home is in the way my heart feels when I'm sitting on the couch reading; quiet, peaceful, and content. It's in the way Mom and Dad smile at each other when they share a personal joke. It's the quiet simple things that make a house a home.

What makes a house a home isn't the walls, or the articles inside. It isn't the location, or the even the memories, necessarily. The most special and significant things that make a house a home is the people who dwell there, and the heart that is and isn't contained within each person.

Joining the lovely Johanna in her monthly blog series: this is last months' (due to an extremely busy schedule) but better late than never, right? ;)

♥,
Mikailah