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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.

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Sometimes, the best and only thing we can do for another being is not to let them live unloved.

Not to let them die unloved.

Found sick and wandering the streets of suburbia, Casanova came into my life just in time to give me the privilege of doing just that, for him.

I will never know his story, but I know that he spent his last months wrapped in love and warmth and sunshine.

And loving every minute of it.

I miss you, buddy.

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photo by Fatima Brown

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cas

photo by Fatima Brown

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Oremus

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Let us forget
the details of our past
So that our history
may repeat itself.

Let me forget
that passion is pain
So that I may brave
these same mistakes again.

And again.

Let me love you
As I did from the first
Even as you love another.
And another.

And another.

Let us ask
for Sorrow
So that our prayers
may be answered

And in so doing
That we may finally believe

in love.

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The longest night was not the darkest.

Happy Winter Solstice.

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I.

She bleps.

I boop.

We both smile
with our eyes.

II.

The touch of a paw
Can bring my to my knees
In an instant
Begging
For another blessing.

III.

I open the door
and I gather you into my arms.

Your neck smells of brown leaves
gone up in smoke.

The morning frost
burns already
in your ears and nose
and thrills upon my cheek.

I kiss your feet
and taste
the last mown grasses
of the season.

The song of life
half-wild
and well-lived
throbs in your throat
and in my ears.

We see this world
and we love it
and live it
through the green
in our eyes.

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