measuring time by the rising height of my ponytail
Cicadas blaring. Children carrying soapy water to and from plastic tubs. Coffee, half-full/half-empty. I feel half-full/half-empty.
Cicadas blaring.
Children carrying soapy water to and from plastic tubs.
Coffee, half-full/half-empty.
I feel half-full/half-empty.
Earlier this week, we drove the Moonwagon an hour south to visit dear friends that always make me want to move in next door to them, right where they are. We met in the center of the campus of the college we all attended, in the middle of the meadow where Brendan and his friend Jim played music on a small stage, like, fifty years ago maybe? Ok, that’s an overestimate, but really, it does feel that way, or, it feels like yesterday too. We all brought our own blankets, our own food, our own drink; we sat in the shade of bald cypress trees and spaced ourselves far enough away to remove our masks so that we could see one another’s smiling faces.
Our family ate cold fried chicken, corn on the cob from two meals prior, celery and pickles and bread. We dipped the chicken into barbeque sauce and ranch dressing. Amy and I talked and talked as fast as our mouths could send the words the 8 feet between us, we always have a lot to cover and never the time and space to cover it in. Jim and Brendan tossed a frisbee back and forth in the sun. The kids walked the meadow, explored what passes for a river, but really is like a creek, and they found a “tiny lobster!” which I think was a crawdad maybe. We all felt like ourselves a little again.
One of his kids told Jim he was nicer and funnier around his friends.
We made a couple other stops, ending our mini-college town tour back at their house. We walked around to the backyard, fed the chickens a snack. Maewyn followed the eldest chicken, Ridiculous, around the yard for a while, narrating her every move. Ridiculous is older than she is. Jim and I drank a beer, Amy had some Coke and Brendan and everyone else but me ate an icee pop. The grass smelled so good to me. I miss it all.
I’ve been stuck with writing words lately, maybe not stuck with writing words exactly, but stuck with thinking I have much to say. Lindsey told me to write for ten minutes last night to unstick myself but instead I fell asleep while watching Mucho Mucho Amor. As big as this house is, there is always a way to be found. As much as I want to produce and create, there is always a way to relax.
I went running the other day. On my way out, I snagged a piece of sidewalk chalk from the driveway, put in my pocket. As I ran, the pink of the chalk rubbed through my shorts pocket. Later, I walked around the steep curve on the road that leads to the street where my parents live. Up the hill and around the curve and a little further to the T****/P**** 2020 sign. I looked both ways and crossed the road. I pressed pause on my music in case a car was coming. I chalked a big BLM in front of the sign, adding a hashtag as an afterthought, and walked back down the hill. The rain came the next day, so I’ll have to go back and do it again.
This is a conversation.