
And the beat goes on.
In the secret sly way
of plants and trees
and wind and death and life.
Yesterday morning,
a cherry laurel blossom,
the tiniest white bit of beauty,
came to rest on my upper lip,
the breezes quite breezy blowing it there,
a warmer refuge than the cold ground.
This Happy Mother's Day morning even chillier.
The breezes still blowing,
rainy looking skies.
Yesterday afternoon, a card from my niece.
For her aunt for Mother's Day.
Never mind that I didn't send her a birthday card this year.
Never mind that there was no gift.
Never mind that there was no Valentine's greeting,
no Easter Bunny.
Never mind all that.
She loves me.
I've sent nothing to anyone all year, in fact I sent no Christmas cards so even longer than all year - I've thought about it, I haven't forgotten a soul in my heart, but I was needed here at home and that was a truth but also an excuse, I admit it. I just didn't have the heart or the energy to shop for cards or make them and I just didn't care about pretty ribbons and envelopes, all those things that have always been so important. And I felt bad about it, but also selfish, just tired, hoping everyone understood, but unable to muster the caring if they didn't.
But the beat goes on.
Pretty feels more do-able.
Yesterday, all day,
shopping.
Taupe silk shoes
&
pale teal sneakers,
the colors of this blog for my feet.
Pink carnations.
A bolt of striped fabric,
$5 for dusty blue-greens & creamy whites.
Dark chocolates.
I have been cleaning my house, cleaning the business, reading. There are new t-shirts, linen trousers, a new purse, flowers as needed - take two and call me in the morning. The refrigerator has been cleaned, the freezer; I am stunned at how badly the "silverware" drawer needs scrubbing. It is all a mess. I have been on the kitchen floor, with a scrub brush & Comet, and there are canisters that once held cans of cat food awaiting their turn, sitting silently amidst whiskers & measuring cups on the kitchen counters. I move from one spot to another; my back old enough to need a new position every so often.
And the beat goes on.
There will be much tossed - I feel the need for a new spatula, a new colander. A spring cleaning of my life, new-found energy used to rid the house of sadness, of hard nights, of all those tears. The memories remain, the pictures, the tales told here, but the beat goes on and I must move forward. My fingernails are worse than ever, the nail on my right ring finger just now broken almost to the quick.
The wind is blowing stronger.
Catawba blossoms
&
those of the cherry laurel fly by.