i woke up this morning, to muggy heat and and the slow drip sound of coffee brewing and shards of light coming through the crack between window and almost closed curtain. how is this possible, i thought, to be here already? june and now we are here, nearly half way through the year of the horse running wild and free.
and then there is also the part of me that feels the significance and vast expanse of all that has happened in just these few months. and it is a lot. in every direction. loss and breaking things, illness and reclaiming things. restoration and repair, and sometimes just walking away and into everything that comes after.
side by side, both stunned at time’s passing and startled at its fullness.
and so there is this part of me right now that is letting myself settle into what this year has been so far, seeing the shape it takes and the cadence it finds when making its way from felt experience to tongue to word leaving the mouth and landing on the page.
three things - the year of. . .
january-june. the year of. . . .
- the year of cold and breaking things. of restless to be removed and burned out and down to the ground things. the year of what was taken and what was stolen. of what was released and what was uprooted. when everything hurt and nothing helped. the year of goodbye.
- the year of wilco singing jesus ect. dancing low to the ground and blood brother memories and life rafts. the year of kissing. torn jeans and no answers and how everyone kept saying i looked different now. of poison as medicine and snake as namer of belonging, jacob’s ladder and keys that fit inside one another. what happens when eyes meet. what it feels like when the ocean stretched forever and i kept driving into the night. hunger and the slip underneath the dress, seeds and soil. the year of moving on.
- the year of losing everything and knowing what i want. the year of speaking directly. the year of being breathed back to life. when i knew who my friends were. when i realized i would be ok. when we bought matching fringe dresses. turning ten and double digits and conversations about pop music and detectives and modern architecture. the year of caring and not caring. the year of bone broth soup and circles tightened and complete. people saying untrue things about me and not bothering to correct them or prove them wrong. the year of not being here in this world to defend myself and justify my ways of being, and their thoughts belong to them and not me. the year of beautiful failures and finding myself chosen. freedom. the year of coming all the way undone. the year my apartment was filled with orchids. the year of swimming to the other side.