Friday, March 11, 2016

3.11.16 Ask.

O   utside there is a small sliver of the moon visible, and then an endless mass of stars, bright and decipherable and immediate. The night is mild, and the wind just sort of shifts through the foothill of the range, as city lights through the woods, and across the river, remain, because we have not yet been filled in by Spring's rich canopy of leaves. 
     I stand in my nightgown and my worn out slippers, feeling the scratchy driveway on one worn out heel, as I hold the pup on rope, who seemed to need to go out, yet now simply holds the leash happily between his jaws, as the tenant's dogs, from their crates, yip and bark and bark, and my big boy races back and forth in his favorite tied-on-a-leash game.
     I'm desolate and disconsolate and a whole bunch of other things that need no words. And I'm not thinking, but instead pulling myself along by the hand, to not think and to just let things move, in and then out. Like breath and thoughts and fears and happenstance. Past and this moment and all the sorts of things we humans pass on by, or get taken out by.
     I'm breathing in and out and slowly I begin to notice the reassuring weight of my existence pull me into my earth. Wordlessly settle me down.
     As the moon and the forest, with its night sounds and whispering wind, all offer up the way to pull pull us into some sort of settlement, if we only ask.


 

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