tomorrow

ten days until i make some lifelong promises.

five years since the day my life went down a different road.

people die and are born, make differences and grow old, stay young.  the world never stops, not ever.

five years.

so it's still true.

five years
and you're still gone
and it's still true
that you always will be.

i will never stop trying to wish you back to life.

anxiety

If I am being rational, I will admit that there is a numbered list of things I have to do, and that I can, reasonably, accomplish them all.

I am frustrated by my anxiety.  It overwhelms.  It renders me useless.

The solution to having "too much to do" is neither to try to do all of them at once, nor the other option: curling into a ball in my bed and doing none of them.

I feel unproductive.  Guilty.  Absent-minded.  Nauseated.

When will it be July?  When can we get into our little car and drivedrivedrivedrive until we reach the shores of the other side of our country?  When can I eat an ice cream cone at a gas station in the middle of the prairies and think about how my life contrasts with the life I'm living now?

Things pile up.

the world is home to many distinct beauties.

This weekend was spent in the wilderness, where my heart so longed to go.  We hiked past creeks through the mist, hoods up, droplets forming on the tips of our noses.  The mountains were snug with clouds so low I thought we were a part of them, perhaps.

When I returned to the city, I discovered the smell of wet pavement outside and fresh laundry hanging all over the house to dry indoors.

And the best two things of all: the apple tree in the backyard had burst into full, white, radiant bloom, and my love was there to say, "welcome home."

the house at night

our house is like a ship

it creaks, groans, climbs

swells, is beaten

by wind, feels small

and i am small

within it

my ear to the wall

bare feet to the wooden floor

so this is what it's like

to be travelling

to a distant country

to imagine a morning

somewhere farther

across calmer seas

backyard

just in from the summer's first campfire:
hair smells like smoke, eyes burning slightly,
belly full of smokies and beer.

this is first of many sweet days
of convening outside with my love
and my friends

laughing at each others' jokes,
sharing micro-brews and mustard,
watching the dog run around the yard.

this will be a most wonderful summer.

happy morning

new buds on my backyard apple tree
make this morning with coffee in a green cup
happier still.

birthday

another year.

- troves of gardening supplies to nurture infant plants into edible adults
- american micro-brewed beers to drink around a campfire
- a bohemian-looking bag to put too many things in
- rain barrels and composters to make my yard look more like a hippie-haven than it already does.

i am feeling strangely melancholic (and have been all day) but i don't equate it to birthdays.  i know i've accomplished much.  i like the person i've become.