“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

8.27.2015

how it's done


it's how you figure things out.
enough bumping into places, people, things, situations,
and you learn to fly away before you hurt yourself.  

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8.24.2015

an inside summer


the cat gets lost in the closet, or feels she's trapped, and her yowls, at first loud and indignant, go sad and sadder, quiet, quieter.  it's not a large closet, not a walk in, just a normal closet with two sliding doors, one open all the way - open all the way, mind you, because she at first yowled quite adamantly to be let in.  there is light from my bedside lamp, but never mind that; she sounds abandoned and scared, only going silent when i get up and peek in at her. she sees me and then she's safe, she's reminded i'm here.  if she'd only look out, beyond where she sits, she could see me when i return to bed, but she doesn't.  she finally convinces herself she is forever imprisoned and makes herself a soft place to sleep.  when she awakens, she'll remember her way out; in truth, she'll pretend it never happened.  i will play along with her charade.

life in one paragraph.  with cat.

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this summer has been one day following the next, all running together too fast, mostly all the same, a corner painted over here one day, a corner over there the next day.  there is only one last corner to go, sitting there, mocking me, whispering i will never finish.  i need help to move the furniture that sits there, and there have been other interruptions, but soon, i whisper back.  soon.  at summer's almost end i struggle to remember the days of fun. i tell myself i can count them on one hand, but that's just me yowling at my imagined abandonment, my imagined imprisonment.  the truth is that now the morning sunlight bounces off the floor as well as through the windows, that there are moments i am grateful for the long chore of painting these floors, grateful for the meditation it became.  grateful to know my arms and aching hands could survive it all.  grateful that my back, which almost didn't, did.   that last dark corner can mock me all it wants - it will be gone by this weekend.  the bedroom walls will be next.

i don't know where the furniture lives anymore.  a chair momentarily placed in front of a window nestles next to a plant and gives the cat a place to curl, so it will stay for a while.  a white bench that once held a mirror finds itself pushed next to a white table and suddenly, accidentally, looks and feels perfect.  as a place to actually sit - who knew?  the pieces of furniture returned to their usual places feel wrong on this new floor.  stagnant.  there will be changes.  i imagine everything elsewhere, but still haven't decided where to place the bed.

i'm just getting to the fun part.

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8.09.2015

august color: heat


 last night the stars were warm and full of memories.

today the woman in the mirror has hurt a toe and feels her age.
i am so much younger than she.

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the august heat is bright and hot and erases away all the colors.  the air conditioner never shuts off and i wear only flip flops, and only those when i must.  though the floor is not yet finished, it is enough finished to once again walk barefoot through the house.  the concrete is cool under my feet. this winter it will be like ice.  i will have to find some rugs.  

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