Wednesday June 26, 2019
The Tipping Point
I’m sorry that I’ve been gone. I’ve missed you. I’ve missed this.
I’ve missed setting my timer (not for the laundry or lentils on the stove).
I’ve missed writing, so so much. Oh my God, I’m crying like writing died. Writing rested. While I learned about softening into the small body of a being so fresh she smells like clouds and caramel.
But then the page calls, soft and unassuming. Could almost miss it amidst all the growing, all the bursting open. Almost.
Things are changing everywhere. All the time. There are years, months, weeks, days where the changing feels so big that it’s all around. Like night. Or lake swimming.
Home smells like this place.