On My Heart

Spots

My hearted has been spotted.
Spotted by places.
Places have spotted my heart.
My heart has spots in it because of those places.

The road above my Grandma's driveway.
A spot.
In snow, rain, or shine, I have sat upon that space and pondered the heavens and wrestled within my own head.
I have danced there, cried there, and talked there. I have run to there and from there. 
In that spot, I have drawn closer to God, closer to myself, and closer to those people who I yearn to be with.

The road leading to my house has spotted me too.
Up and down. Up and down. 
On a sled, in my yoga pants, and with a school bag.
On that hill, that long winding hill, I have found space to think, the first daffodils of spring, the way to my neighbor's house, and dad's truck coming up the driveway. 
It was a place of exercise, mediation, dogs, and shin splints. 
It was the way to and from home.


I spot some spots that dot the globe, brilliantly white.  I spot them as I drive and fly; their serenity spots me every time.
On that mount, diverse, yet consistent, I have seen miracles, heard thoughts, and found comfort.
I have been schooled, I have listened, and I have been calmed.
I have been overwhelmed. I have walked there, talked there, and felt loved there.
I don't even have to stand in that spot to be marked by the occasion.  
Just driving on the road flying past it or parking beside it instills that calmness in my heart.  So I often drive by just to be inspired by that spot.


I spot these places of comfort and include them repeatedly in my life.
But really the places become spots on my heart.
Pieces of my sanity.
Pieces of my spirituality.
Possessed by the places that allow for my understanding.