1.8.16 Cresting and falling

Until I discovered the volume of ticks, Fitzgerald Lake was a remarkable place to go. There I'd be , early mornings, to walk an aged dog, and a different pup, in those days.
I'd go by in the afternoon with my nephew, tearing the kid away from legions of video games and that unerring adolescent despair. 
I'd go when all the many kids were occupied or not too tired and I could slip away without dire events or an eclipsed, overwhelmed husband. 
I'd jog down the path, rounding the corners , taking in the fresh conifer-saturated air, and come upon the boardwalks , glistening in the rain or stark white ,with contracted frost in the long frozen winter.
It was there I'd sit and watch the wood ducks and loon and egret. Where I brought my daughter daily after some rough kid knocked her out during indoor soccer, and she had to rest her head injury for a month.
I might have gone there once with my husband , though I don't remember it ,and I pretty much doubt it, because always he's had his own interests and does not live for the outdoors- unless it's Italian .
I remember being pulled there on hot dark steamy summer nights , finding my way almost by touch, down to the stilled lake waters, and the smothering voracious mosquito.
The other-worldly call of the Owl so close, as I lay on the soft pine forest floor, feeling centuries of microbes and humans and creatures cresting ,and then falling with the tides.

 

1.8.16 As the day ends and the night comes

We try so hard. Not to give up easily.
On our dreams that spin to thudding silence. 
On our efforts at effortless love. 
On our predestinations that hide beneath the bed at mid-day, making illusory intimations.
We persevere, as the day ends too suddenly and night comes to blows.
As each fiber of a sweat stained shirt, or flung shoe - or even that torn right hand pocket, begins to flare into filament, shining true in an untrue world.
Always we protect those who would stumble and cry , whose lives would untangle, and by so doing, fall apart.

1.8.16 What we did wrong

This morning I was sitting on the bed in my pjs while I made a tiny- painting- for-a- thank you, telling Kevin about my weirdo dream, where I had an almost mother- in- law in a family I didn't know who was preparing for a wedding and the colors were red and white.

 I said 'We didn't HAVE colors.'

 He laughed, thought about our huge commie wedding party, and said 'That must be what we did wrong .' God, I laughed .

1.6.16 And noone told

Being finally delivered to college was like finally being released, something I waited for since really I could remember. Somehow noticing that at some point humans become bigger and older and if you looked around, you'd begin to see a whole big bunch of them not living at someone else's home any more. So i waited and finally the day came. Finally I spent the night with a fairly straightforward good girl roommate who was all excited that somehow we would be the best of friends and spend all our time together and sit and talk and watch tv and stuff like that.I listened to her, not knowing what to say. Just knowing that none of that was really going to happen. Til my lover arrived the next day and came on over and pulled me to him and looked into my eyes smiling that smile and packed up my stuff and brought me to his single room in his guy dorm, where I held forth and where we squished into the tiny bed and studied and laughed and I used the guy's bathroom to pee and to shower and they all got used to it and noone told and really it all worked out best.

 

1.6.16 Superstition in all its guises

Often we don't know what will take us, and when; what might turn the tide. 

We don't realize what will be pivotal, and what will be a last straw, sending the whole deal spinning and crashing to the ground. 

It's speculative

 at best and prognostication at worst, limiting

 our sights to probabilities, as opposed to simply living and breathing and moving our best true life. 

                 The longer we are here, the more ease we find in letting ourselves trust some sort of existence that is less about superstition in all it's guises, and more about settling down into whatever will come our way.