Sunday, June 10, 2018

What You Do for Me, June 3 2018

I left just in time. The drive was very smooth, though I was in strange headspaces a few times: out of it, or dreaming, or suddenly hyper-aware and sweaty. But I drove well.

I took the Merritt Parkway. At one point the surging trees, tousled by the wind, looked like seaweeds rolling underwater.
It was a beautiful, Princess Mononoke-esque sensation.

I saw a dead deer that look for a second like a tiger, the cuts in its flesh were so dark against its golden brown hide. I saw a wild turkey stalking in the grass by the road, and mistook it momentarily for a vulture. I saw a dead little rabbit and thought it looked like a fennec fox.

Don't let me mistake You.
I am amazed, God, at what You do for me. The walls are coming down. Thank You for giving me what I needed, including faith and peace. And so very few regrets. Because of Your grace. And because I am choosing again to live in love.

Festooned with Flowers, June 2 2018

I am in a home
I am in a room that glows
festooned with flowers

I am in a room
I am in a bridal bed
festooned with flowers

Another Plentid Day, May 23 2018

I am content.
This is a good day to be alive, and growing, and hearing Your voice. Keep speaking to me. Give me love. Give me wisdom and self-control.

I finally went back to prayer meeting this morning, and walked afterward. I wrote cards for all the transitioning YA Advisors. I cried over my salad of tender greens from the garden (spinach, red lettuce, chard, basil and parsley, sharp garlicky Welsh cheddar and black olives). I used the rest of the peel-off mask, and read Sayers. I talked with A, and briefly with C - it's a boy!

I went to the Rs, where I had dessert and enjoyed a slideshow, and talked for a long while afterward. 

The Maples Could Make You Cry, May 7 2018

The maples could make you cry. I'm serious. I've been struck with the pain of beauty so many times in the last couple of days, while driving. Want so much to stop and absorb it. To paint it, bathe in it, inhale it, eat it. You probably have to feel it from inside a tree. Up in the branches, at least. Feeling it sway and watching the whole, tented, verdant leaves scintillate in the sunshine.

Leaves at this time of year are amazing. They're pristine, nourished, pungent. Their youthful translucence is deepening into something rich and virile.
I'm using all these words because I haven't found the right one. And because this is all about profusion, fecundity, extravagance.
Juice. Verve. Drive. 

The Moon, April 24 2018

The moon on the drive back was so perfect, big, bright, utterly distracting.
Made you want to pull over, get out of the car, and pursue it across the fields. 

Poetry, April 25 2018

Words and rhythms, poetry, have crawled into me. Now I want to read poetry in the park, on a checkered tablecloth. I want to see my friends silent, picking at grass, sun on their arms and hair. And to be silent, and pick at grass, and hear their voices.

I miss that. Five years ago we read poetry on the quad day after day after day. And it wasn't my idea, but I was the most faithful.

I've let myself drift away. Keep on loving, let yourself be known.