i am picking up pieces that look familiar.
fragments of comfort and joy ::
:: leaves and light
:: needles and yarn
:: finding the big in the small
so far, i am a character in a book about myself -- i feel distant, indifferent.
there are rough and rocky starts. unsatisfying attempts. failures of attention.
and, damn it, we just keep going, believing that the trying is its own victory, no matter the outcome.
shattered.
like soda bottles slammed into a roadside ditch for the split second of sound.
like plates, emblematized and hurled into a concrete wall.
like a pyrex bowl of butter nosed off the counter by a naughty dog.
except none of those tried to go on being what they had been.
and here i am
on target, on track, and doing a great job
a grownass woman, ain't nobody gonna tell me what to do
save the force that through the green fuse ...
i can trust my own navigation, my own senses, my own being
better late than never
and out into the world.
a little bigger, a little wider.
the newness seems to be working itself in: i remain astonished that this is the first time i've (thought to) cut a cantaloupe otherwise.
again, again, again i wonder how much i am missing that is here, here, here.
and this is a moment of perfection
and so it does.
there is milk, there is honey, there are golden sunlight shadows morn and eve.
there are also boxes upon boxes beyond boxes, and the requisite consideration of minimalism.
a lot of old things look pretty shabby in a new place, and i question my driven attachment to so much. and then i remember the chaos of departure and immediately forgive myself, myselves.
i found treasures in a thrift store, including a sheepskin bicycle seat cover. lucky am i!
in so many many many ways.
love.