Far from forlorn, I wade my way across an ocean that contains fragments of the past, present and future. I dwell on the past, when my broken heart gets the best of me and just as I’m about to go under, I rise to the surface—focused and real—ready for the moment and gunning for what’s to come.
But the tide always changes my course and when I look toward the future, the undertow tends to bend my body in such a way that I lose my compass course. I am swimming forward. That’s all I know. And each wave that crashes over my spirit leads me every which way and I feel happy for the adventure and I feel grateful for the ride.
Sometimes on Saturday, after a fit-filled, sweaty sleep in the thousand degree heat, we like to lounge around with our little brother, positioning ourselves in such a way that the breeze from the fan goes straight up our nostrils.
A little bit of my heart goes with each sunset that I witness. Whether its the extreme quiet that blankets the air around me or its the overwhelming stillness that scoops me up and pushes up against my need for movement—I don’t know what it is—but when the sun makes her slow exit, I feel a sort of melancholy combined with joy.
It’s another day that’s passed and I made it through with eyes and spirit open. Or at least I tried. It’s another day that has seen all there is to see, from grief to anguish to hippy hoppy happy to sublime peace.
There she goes and part of me goes with her, like I’m somehow trying to make it my business to add my input to the ending of daylight and release my sorrows into the night.
Yours In Hoping Most Of It Comes True,
Sometimes on Saturday, after a morning filled with equal mom play involving our brother and various toys that we have held close to our heart since the beginning of time, we like to enlist our mother in a game of Throw The Loud Yellow Bone because we know that this is our special interaction, considering that our brother is afraid of the unruly clunkiness this particular toy makes.
Fire In the Hole!
914. “The Cloud”
915. When people ride bikes barefoot
916. How my underwear manages to glue itself to the inside of every one of my husband’s t-shirts while it’s in the dryer