I love the rain, its muffled sounds through the glass pane in the morning before the sun glows above the rooftops and spills into the room one slat space at a time. I love the practice of opening blinds each morning flooding life into empty rooms. Rain gives shape to the air, animates the motionless gray of the streets. It is the tiny cold tips of needles tapping my skin with a temporary chill, then sliding away as if it had never existed. Yet the sensation is still there – lingering – like the ghost of a discarded lover. It is the permission I need to let go as it washes away the to do to do to do, sweeping it away to rest in someone else’s yard, where they can pick it up and carry on.
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- Day One #NaPoMo2017Fields fertilized with the dead and dismembered double-sided dreams of women – crushed to tender dust by the moral meditations of men. Therein blooms the wild bones of the untraveled journeys of the dead, to be plucked by the not-yet-touched child whose tiny, powerful breath scatters the not-yet-split seeds across the barren seas. ************************ […]
- Day One #NaPoMo2017