the nature of things

these past few days i've felt a poem coming on.

or something like a poem. my head has felt in the right place -- a place you can't force it to be in; it just doesn't work that way.

this weekend i think i'll plan my garden. it's time to start seeds in my sunny front window. i look forward to the small joy of seeing that first speck of white and green appear in the soil. proof that life works, and goes on, and the nature of things is to grow.

love and some verses

sitting in a cafe trying to bang out an article i know nothing about. it isn't going very well. i am staring off into space and drinking my coffee too slow so it's cold. i want to go home, crawl into my bed, and close my eyes. my eyes are tired.

i'm listening to the song we signed our marriage register to. i was never capable of keeping it together during emotional moments (i have cried in front of hundreds, maybe thousands of people in my lifetime), so i was teary-eyed and my nose was running and i didn't have a tissue. i watched my best friend sign her name on the witness line and i felt eric's hand on my shoulder and i looked out at all of the people watching and thought to myself, "what if the song ends before we're done?"

i am obviously not the best at staying in the moment.

all of this to say i'm three days away from deadline and i haven't written a single word. 

dressage in the wintertime

I guess there's nothing stopping me from starting my work day at 2:30 PM at a coffee shop. Still, I feel guilty. It is a marvellously sunny day outside, and I wish I were riding a horse through a wide prairie. This wish will probably never go away.

I have been thinking about her a lot lately. She's always there, somewhere, but these past two weeks she has been at the forefront of my thoughts.

It's something to do with thinking about horses. With bringing my shaggy horse in from the pasture, cleaning him up, pulling his mane back to a respectable length. Schooling dressage alone in a quiet, cold indoor arena that reminds me so much of the arena at the old barn where we all met. Something about not being sure what it is I'm working towards when I ask for flexion and bend, when I ask for more impulsion, aiming for steady straightness and quiet transitions. There's no real reason for working towards these things, when there is no end result in mind and no one there to tell me should be able to do it, or to tell me I actually can do it. To congratulate me when it's done.

Without her it seems sort of pointless.

It could just be that it's winter and we're just as far in as we'll ever be out. It's a good season to be wistful.