I want to write an ode to the beauty of my kids’ changing faces. Save it.
This house is filled to the brim with things and more things and there are stacks staring me down as I sit down to read about involuntary vs. direct attention, restorative spaces. The way my instructor’s mouth moves and how it brings me satisfaction to watch the top and bottom of it come together. Two new pots to plant in. Two new ideas to play with. New soft couch, layer upon layer, New Long Leg, new sweet pea sprouts a-coming, squirrels be damned.
Oh and the sorrow. That’s all a part of it too. AP photos of people embracing each other, waiting for the terrible news, or the relief. The sweetness of not us, not now, not this time, not yet. Or, the opposite, because there is no real in-between. We are embracing while waiting for the bad news. I still can’t wait to hug you, but some of you are so far away.
I’m so sorry for your loss.
I’m so very sorry for your loss.
Your loss.
I’m so deeply sorry for your loss.
And my neighbor points out the cardinals, the male cardinal who is so much louder than the female cardinal, and their beautiful singing, the pair of them. When I woke up to walk to the bathroom at 4am I could hear the whole dawn chorus. I wake up and read the bad news.