this 2nd day begins with gray skies and the promise of coming heat. the streets are wet with humidity, then dry, then a bit of rain comes and they are wet again, the bricks slick and dangerous. it is quiet, no traffic at all, the birds just now beginning morning songs, the swwsssh of small breezes against wet grasses and trees.
green and gray and summer still.
a daylily across the street has bloomed, orange against this misty day
and the morning's first car passes like a ghost.
i continue to clear space, reminding myself there is a purpose to this, that this particular journey is about the destination, but enjoying the journey nonetheless. picking up souvenirs along the road. a foot from a broken buddha, a milagro with a broken leg. omens of times gone by. my mother's silver pin - on its face the word miracle is stamped, tiny and tarnished. everything i save seems to have chipped places or cracks, seems to belong someplace else - feathers from birds long gone, twigs from the pecan tree and also the pear.
my house 101.
relearning the space, letting it remind me, letting it change.
my mother's white table is perfect and suddenly that part of the room is lighter,
seems to float, no dark brown holding it to earth.