Effortless: a boat atop a stream like glass. Sweet, magenta petals. Running laps around. Dangling willow wisps that graze your shoulders in the night.
How might we infuse what we encounter.
Lightning bugs like candles through the trees. Wind in soft exhales before sleep. Cotton wafts, fresh linen on your skin.
A space where the unnecessary cooks into the air and onward, upward. Next.
Where the wine colors all that lies within its grasp. Purple. Sweet.
Steam swirls above the clink of a spoon through buttered potato velvet. Mauve shreds of chicken thigh. Orangeyellowpurple carrot dots; sea green celery crescents; thin, grey mushroom slivers. Slight green specks of parsley. Deep purple broth. A giant hunk of bread, to dip.
Everything in balance.
I am a labyrinth,
The space between open and closed, defined and undefined. Someplace, neither warm, nor cold. There are rules and un-rules and non-rules, and they change and they wind, because there aren’t any, so that when they break – they do not break me.
they reroute you.
(and this is good) / because I am not yours and so, you are none of mine and we /because I am not meant to make anything more than the sum of its parts for the purpose of your betterment / so that we might
Let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another, but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,
Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.
For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow. (khalil gibran)
Happy Spring, darlings.
When you are tired (perhaps of everything)
-and all of it collided a little bit after days of piling-
so tired, you thought, “It’s been a life,” when you typed, “It’s been a week.”
is when it is time for toast.
/ sourdough beneath salty, limey avo cream / itty, red specks of aleppo / yellow curls of lemon zest / taupe hemp heart discs / green onion rings / golden pools of olive oil /
Mountains are mountains. Rivers are rivers. You’ll climb if you have to, and you’ll wade if you have to, and you’ll melt through the wave when it comes.
I want the quiet, that slow drip
through wet paper. Grounds. The kind of exhale that makes a soft, little noise. It just doesn’t matter very much, really.
Sugar and butter make caramel on the stovetop, fragranced with soft drops: tablespoons of lukewarm coffee. You won’t totally notice, really. But it’s there.
Pecans and mini chocolate chips.
Patting down goop.
Forgetting for a moment you might be reached. In the expanse of your own space, filling and emptying, until
get up, get down
The timer, and out emerges a transformation: blonde and chocolate, nut and perk, crisp edged and melty.
I can’t help myself.
“Sometimes the one who is running from the Life/Death/Life nature insists on thinking of love as a boon only.
Yet love in its fullest form is a series of deaths and rebirths.
We let go of one phase, one aspect of love, and enter another.
Passion dies and is brought back.
Pain is chased away and surfaces another time.
To love means to embrace and at the same time to withstand many endings,
and many many beginnings-
all in the same relationship.”
(Clarissa Pinkola Estés)
Happy Valentine’s, whatever kind of beginning or ending or beginning again you’re experiencing. ❤