It’s different here,
this season’s change –
the slant of the light
and the smell in the air –
brighter, milder, wilder,
like something ancient, fierce and dangerous
but constant and controlled.
I’ve always said nature is a woman.
The baby likes the nighttime!
But…not really for sleep.
Oh, she’ll catch the occasional wink
and then wake,
like it’s time to play.
And daytime naps?
Well, maybe?
Nah – there’s just too much to do and say,
too many good messes to make.
Yeah, we’re all going a little crazy.
Except, of course, the baby.
I have seen this future
in the past.
You would think,
at last
we’d learn,
if like me you
had faith in humanity.
And still I try,
as should we all,
to be a light
and fight the dark.
But every day –
I feel it –
every day –
the constant barrage –
every day –
deep down fatigue –
every day:
We hurdle towards a
tragedy.
Not a certainty
Here near the ocean and sand
To see some winter
The night sky made bright
Satin dark and silver flakes
A canvas made new
I think it’s a gift
A boon from the universe
Unexpected snow
Not quite the same view
But I’ll take it nonetheless
Change is not easy
Here and gone too soon
Like many other good things
Worth it while it lasts
I have a
little girl
to take care of.
Her world,
her future,
her life –
they start with me.
To teach her to be
kind
and
clever,
to show her
love –
how to and why –
and when it’s right to fight.
And to never deny
the darkness,
but always
always
always
help her shine her light.
Nothing else matters.
Everything matters.
Picture me just there
in the window
forever looking out
at the road and sky,
no more now than air
and memories
and the old, dry dust of
a thousand near misses.
You wish you could?
Well, so do I.
Wake.
Grow.
Bloom.
Blossom.
Change.
The season turns
again.
The past and present
are not the same,
but the cycle
is certain,
a constant.
And I can feel it –
down in my bones,
deep in my soul –
now
more than ever.
Here, there, and everywhere you are,
my hair –
in the shower drain and on the rocking chair,
fistfuls in my hands,
landing all around in tangles, clumps, and pairs.
You and me,
we were really something, weren’t we?
One day you’ll come back,
I know –
or, at least, I hope it’s so.
Until then,
my old familiar friend,
we’ll weather the (thinning) clouds together.
My people got a playpen
and they say it’s not for me!
But then why even get one?
Everything’s mine, you see.
(Including the weird hairless cat
they brought home in the fall.)
It’s almost like they just forgot
that Merlin owns it all.
I find that
I’m a student
once again –
no teacher now
but life,
little sleep,
and lots of advice
(some helpful and some…
…not).
I’m learning
to embrace
this busy, beautiful chaos.
A Virginia Writer's Diary 