Wednesday December 4, 2019
It feels more like an autumn day than spring, something like October keeps ringing in my ears and against them.
A resistance here, a noticing. These two have never come together before.
And now in my bigger boots I can sense the weighted thought and it is attached to me.
The breeze whisks the hair around my face into a halo of buzzing. I cannot pretend I do not ache for sunny days, but this, this aliveness is more than
I thought I would know.
The air around me is still and I can hear a quiet humming.
I listen and find grace in the willingness to acknowledge.
It’s not hunger, it’s not sleep, but grief collected.
And here I count the withered leaves, one and two and three upon the ground.
It feels more…