Sunday, October 28, 2012

field notes









I have felt the weight of words lately but the universe is not one to be forced to speak or sing just because I said so.  Instead I make biscuits, and meatballs, and soup from squash and apples and fennel seeds.  I am comforted by my kitchen cocoon, woven over glass between oven-warmed air and north wind.  I run a race at a breath-taking pace with my sweet friend and we hold hands over our heads like school girls as we cross the finish line.  I drink red wine.  I listen to Bach.  I sleep restlessly.  I feel the moon even though I cannot see it.  I walk in the changed woods ... waiting.  

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