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Archive for March, 2019

The other day I heard someone say, “It doesn’t look very much like spring.” All I could think was, “You must not be looking very closely!”

What has caught your eye these past few weeks?

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Today is the first anniversary of my Favorite Thing I Have Ever Done: purchasing my home. Having moved from place to place more times than I can remember, I am indescribably relieved to finally have a place where I can put down some serious roots. (And after having spent most of this sunny March afternoon out in the garden, I can say with confidence that the roots are coming along just fine.)

A year has passed and I find myself marveling at the newfound feeling of not having to wonder whether or not I will be in the same place for another season. In honor of the epic year behind us, and the many years and adventures to come, I’d like to share some of my favorite domestic scenes from our first year in our forever home. Here’s to flowers and sunny windows and snowy scenery and foster babies and beautiful sunsets and stacks of books and a house full of love. My Castle, my Fortress of Solitude, my Bliss Station: I hope I get to haunt you forever.

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Another two days have passed.
What else is there to say?

Sometimes I wonder
How I can have passed so many days already,
When it feels like they will never come to their end.

I’d consider it a success
If, from this point forward
I simply settle into my days passing,
Aging inch by inch here in this little house,
Achieving nothing more of worth in this world.

I have lived so many lives already.
What more could possibly be in store for me?
What else of wonder is there left.

Is it all maintenance from here on out?
All creation accomplished
Or the chance slipped by.
Coasting.
Getting by.
Killing time.
Waiting for the end.

Waiting for something to come along,
Which is the only thing keeping us around.

What else is there to say?

In fifteen years
A garden
A different set of cats
A new collection of lovers
Other jobs under the belt.
Anything else?

A gathering of days,
Hours woven together into some sort of pattern
But not without knots and snags and great, gaping holes.
I have no choice
But to continue adding threads,
Waiting to see what sort of regrettable image
Emerges toward the end.

Or just a tangle of string.

Is there anything left to thrill me?
If there is I cannot see it
I cannot dream it up
Delusional as though I may sometimes be.

I can only beat this path barren.
I can only keep planting each spring,
Writing each evening,

Keep paying each month
Until the debt is forgiven.

Keep reading until all the books are read
And their knowledge forgotten.

Keep eating for the sake of living.
Simply for the sake of breathing through another day,
Another two days.

anothertwodays

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