The only way to make sense out of change is to plunge into it, move with it, and join the dance. (Alan Watts)

DAH is me, David Anthony Hance. 
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First up this week: Yokel …
I sometimes long to be a yokel. A local yokel happily bound to a little place. I would be “an unpolished, naïve, or gullible inhabitant of a rural area or of a small town” (Merriam-Webster). I know, the word yokel is usually used in a derogatory manner. In my sometimes world of yokelism, I would either not care, or my behavior would change the definition in the minds of those who knew me. It’s the simplicity that appeals to me, and the implied minimalism of being a yokel. I don’t have any sense how I could make this happen, but perhaps I can adopt a few yokelish traits and call that good. 

Second up this week, Yare …
But I’d be a rare yare yokel. One who is nimble, agile, lively and ready for action. I don’t use the word yare much. I don’t use it at all, actually, until now. But I do like it. I’d be ready for action in support of the local that made me a yokel. I’m fascinated by what makes the places we love. Figuring out how to keep them lovable, or make them more lovable, seems a good mission to me. “Live where you love” and “love where you live” are good reminders for me. I would be a yare lover of my locale.

Third up this week, Yoicks …
Another word I seldom use. But seldom isn’t never. Given the right circumstances, I might call out “yoicks” much more often. It’s a good word for expressing excitement, and for foxhunting. I don’t hunt foxes, so I’ll simply wait for excitement. It also seems better suited to outdoors, somehow, or more open spaces than my tiny home office. A nice bit of writing doesn’t feel yoickish to me. All alone in my back garden hut (as I am at this moment), a pleasant smile and deep breath are expression enough of my writing excitement. Perhaps I’m being too restrained, and an occasional “yoicks” might be energizing.

A book with deep definitions of "home" … 
At Home on an Unruly Planet: Finding Refuge on a Changed Earth 
by Madeline Ostrander
This is a good book about home and how to take care of that place. I'll be referring back to the interspersed chapters about the meaning of home. They're nestled in between personal narrative chapters about real people whose homes are seriously threatened. The author is a science writer who here "details environmental crises in communities across the United States while reflecting on the idea of home, which she believes 'isn't just a thing we build, but an awareness of and care for our surroundings and the capacity to imagine new ways of living in them.'" (New York Times)
"Focusing on the U.S., Ostrander shares four memorable narratives about specific areas already suffering from the effects of climate change … Interspersed among these stories are Ostrander's pertinent, engaging essays that speak to the theme of home, including the loss of safety and the homesickness that many will likely face from being uprooted … A hopeful, urgent, and universal message about our collective ability to face the climate changes we can no longer ignore." (Kirkus Reviews)


And a bit more … 

"Tomorrow Is A Place"
By Sanna Wani

We meet at a coffee shop. So much time has passed and who is time? Who is waiting by the windowsill? We make plans to go to a museum but we go to a bookshop instead. We're leaning in, learning how to talk to each other again. I say, I'm obsessed with my grief and she says, I'm always in mourning. She laughs and it's an extension of her body. She laughs and it moves the whole room. I say, My home is an extension of my body and she says, Most days are better with a long walk. The world moves without us—so we tend to a garden, a graveyard, a pot on the windowsill. Death is a comfort because it says, Transform but don't hurry. There is a tenderness to growing older and we are listening for it. Steadier ways to move through the world and we are learning them. A way to touch your own body. A touch that says, Dig deeper. There, in the ground, there is our memory. I am near enough my roots. Time is my friend. Tomorrow is a place we are together.


And that's all for this week.
From Mary Oliver's "Sometimes"

Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it.