Saturday April 11, 2020
From Julia’s 2017 notebook
Oh the tiny mittens in the round rooster bowl on the table. The wind curling through branches with long fingers. I wonder what you sound like when you sleep? What you taste like in the morning, dreams still wet in the corners of your eyes, lips pursed and searching. I wonder if you know what’s happening over here, in this forest tranquility, in this strange madhouse of sunrise and sunset, of oatmeal and salt water, of baths and nightmares. The world cracks open, spills her yolk, makes our hearts sticky. The phoebes will nest soon. I wonder if you look up at the stars and feel the shell, feel the longing, feel the possible? I lay on my back on the deck, felt the circular cascade of constellations, felt my breath in my back, in my tired electric body, in my small house. It’s funny, the moments when my mind turns a page and it’s you there.