“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


the chill of a small fever

it's windy out there and there are more pears on the pear tree than i've seen in years, and less squirrels stealing them.  the grass is twinkling with sunlight flashing on and off behind the leaves and my arms and legs are goosebumpy with the chill of a small fever - on again, off again like the sunlight.  it is nothing but allergies, it will pass, and i may even float in the lake come early evening, but i may not.  there is nowhere i have to be, nothing i have to do, no one i have to call. 

yesterday my mother was 3 months gone; the lovely lovely katie and i spent the day in dallas and as i sat over a bowl of strawberries in a small restaurant i found myself pushing against that old feeling of needing to get home and call, to check, to see if everything was okay. it is a new freedom, an unwanted freedom whose boundaries i've not yet learned - if indeed it has any boundaries.  this morning i felt myself rushing against who knows what, feeling i needed to hurry if i wanted to go to the lake, though everyone is out of town and there is no clock to pay any mind.  there is a bit of texas heat out there and, like i said, it is windy, and i am slightly fever-y and there is a book keeping me company, and the lake will be there all summer, and even if not, well, then, not.  the summer comes anyway.

another texas summer.  with long, hot weekends sprawled before me.  i feel only slightly tethered to the life that was mine, to the me that used to be.  the familiar is different - there is a different cat breathing in the space where maggie used to breath and the chairs where maggie laid are ignored, higher perches preferred.  my mother's phone number is no longer anyone's number, there are new neighbors on the corner across the street, and there are more pears.  the early morning wind blew a limb down from the tree outside a bedroom window and now more sunlight falls across my bed.

another summer, unlike any before.
i was foolish to think things would be the same.



  1. another summer .. it does come regardless of what we feel about it..such a presence it is.
    your poetic words sit here in my lap ..i hold them close

  2. we're always changing... (a counting crows line I think I've typed here before).
    the seasons are a constant, but this year they do feel different, so volatile and unpredictable.
    "my mother's phone number is no longer anyone's number." that line went right to my heart.
    i hope you did get to float in the lake, because hope floats, you know?

  3. thank you for always making me appreciate my mother and not take her for granted....she'll be 71 next month.


  4. Your words always stay with me long after I leave, giving me so much to feel and to think about. This is another haunting post of wind and summer in Texas and missing your mom and finding yourself ... sending you good, cool thoughts from the mountains, at least it's cool for now, also very windy.

  5. Yes, those significant passings do change our landscape, our known markers...The inner architecture is different. but it becomes, with time, also known. And the love & the memories & the ways in which those we love have formed & changed us stay always, with new inner flowers decorating that sweet space.
    May this summer hold you in comfort as you traverse its new paths.

  6. i still want to call my father 7 years later, I remember the phone number, though his house is now gone it makes me sad to think that the home he built with his own hands and that he lived in for over 40 years is no more. The landscape has changed and though I can't do anything about that I still recent it somewhat.
    days roll into weeks into months and years but somehow the memories continue.

  7. your words, no matter the subject, are always a drink for my soul.

    i wish you would compile some words in a book.

    i need that book.


  8. I spent some time catching up with you on your blog posts. so much change, so much stretching and reaching. i admit, it does make me happy to know you are flowing with the changes. life is so damn determined that we not be alowed to keep ourselves safe in stillness. why not go with the flow? ...life is going to happen anyway. and besides good things come along with the hard things! and i wouldn't want to miss out on those, would you? i feel proud of you. i know how presumptuous of me! but i know how difficult some of these things are for you. and you are facing them all with grace. i know you'll harumph over that visual but it's true from my point of view!

  9. another Texas summer indeed,,,I hat winter sooo...

  10. oh friend... how you write, so well... and this, the bowl of strawberries, the missing of mother, the fever... i was there, with you. thank you for this.

  11. Summer has touched you already? The pears are already growing? We don't see pears until the fall here.

    As you try to embrace and accept the new, I am trying to create something new...trying so hard to escape the familiarity of this time of year...it's not my favourite time. May we both find what we need. xo

  12. What special words. I can just picture your summer coming on with it's pears and a differentness.

  13. your words always touch me so.
    i have to say i'm scared of my future without my parents - they are still such a very large part of my life.

  14. dear Deborah, I had written this following by emailI, but it coming back many times for some reason about the server, so, I leave you here my words, also in gratitude for what you wrote to me recently.

    "... thank you for your warmth.
    I follow your blog from a long, long time.
    I smiled, I cried, I was excited with you.
    I love your art, your words, the way you photograph the world ((the way you use the color blue!).
    then, I (almost) never replies to comments, because my english is too insecure, and I afraid of saying the wrong things.
    but I always follow you, and my hear is close to yours"

    have a good day,


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