it starts slowly,
with achy knees and a yowling cat, and, if lucky, with sunshine.
it needs a hug, dragging last night's dreams into the daylight.
it moves at the sunday speed of life.
this tree. last weekend in the rain, this weekend in the sun, hips curving a welcome to the tulip tree bursting with early buds. a texas january, each weekend new. from freezing to warm and then back again. swaying this way and that.
this day starts with unseen crows, a sound against the sky. i open the door and there is a singing bird i can't name, its song drifting past me, its last notes dropping into the house. feng shui, east texas style.
what do you really want?, she'd asked me. i had to think. a house in the woods, i eventually said, or no, a house in the country, near the woods. she didn't laugh, but when we finished talking, i walked through the early evening, the last of the christmas lights almost gone, and i thought maybe not. my favorite lights were still up, white lights teeter tottering along the sidewalks and the path to a front porch. where in the country near the woods would i find such lights? would it matter? it would, i think, but maybe not. would wild flowers be a replacement, could i wait for spring?
i passed the lights, a drizzle of rain dotting the sidewalk, streetlights casting shadows of trees before me, moving with me, with each step, and i fell into not thinking.
last night i dreamed of death and a bridal cake, plain with white frosting. the crows that woke me flew into my dream and out, black wings against my face. i remember nothing else but the sunshine against the window when i opened my eyes.
photo textures by kim klassen. i used a ton.