in the hush
in the quiet
under breath
beneath the bridge
i never cross
never burn
forest blaze
dancing flame
pirouette
in deep dark shadow
spin spin
never stop
my heart
is your whisper
my voice
is your silence
my music
your zephyr
i am quiet
always quiet
winding through
your ancient labyrinth
never lost
never sorry
for your imprint
on my skin
.
.
I’m not making this face quite yet, this bored, grumpy, is it summer yet? face, but I will be, soon.
My naughty kitten has a very restless heart, and this frigid cold is putting a serious crimp in his style. And by style I mean hunting, mouse exterminating, pest control. He sleeps inside every night, but by day he prowls our property (and beyond) for mice and moles and chipmunks (his favorite), with the occasional bird thrown in to show me who’s boss.
But for the past few days it has been so incredibly cold that he has stayed inside, pouting, causing trouble, getting into mischief. Keeping me up at night with his antics. Normally, after a day in the field, he comes in and passes out and we don’t hear from him until morning. But he has been sleeping most of the day, and so, at night, he is wide awake and looking for entertainment. Cat-style entertainment, you know, running over people’s heads, beating up the other kitties, pouncing on toys and pillows and anything else that can stand in as prey.
It’s kind of funny when it’s not highly annoying (which is around 1:00 in the morning). And it makes me think how much really does depend on the weather, though we like to think that somehow we are above all that, we like to think that we’ve evolved past caring about such trivialities, we like to think that the cocoons we’ve built for ourselves insulate us from what’s going on outside. And in some ways, of course, they do.
But even so, we can’t really ever escape the weather, or nature. Time cycles and seasons shift and we take the sunshine for granted until we are hit by a storm, or extreme cold or too much heat. Floods and droughts and cyclones and tornadoes are the stuff of news, and we forget the power of Mother Nature’s fury on those days when she is smiling down on us.
I don’t think it’s trivial when people talk about the weather. I think it’s human nature. I think it’s a throwback to the times when we lived out in the elements, when paying attention to the weather was a matter of survival. A time that, in the grand scheme of things, really wasn’t so long ago.
But I’m still going to be making this same face for a while before Spring arrives. For me, February is always the longest month. I have tried both fighting it and embracing it, but I think this year, I’m just going to accept it, and wear that expression with pride.
If naughty kitten can do it, so can I.
Last night, despite single-digit temperatures, I went out to dinner with my mom, sister and niece. My body balked at the notion of going anywhere in this cold, but I forced my inner hermit into silence and got dressed to go all the same. And we had a great time, just catching up and laughing and being silly.
Silly is good.
I find myself, especially at this time of year, living by rote, filling my days with habits and patterns and same-old same-old, and it’s nice to veer off the beaten path and walk through a field, cut through an alley, wander aimlessly. I don’t do that often enough.
Lately, I’ve barely had time to write in the mornings, and I am missing that particular habit, one that’s surely worth keeping. My days have felt slightly off, rushed, harried, and it’s taken me this long to figure out why. I’m out of my groove.
But life is funny like that, it doesn’t really allow you to stay in any one rut for very long, things are always changing, shifting, moving. Even when you try to hold your place, you can feel the earth tilting beneath you, forcing you to change your stance just to remain upright.
But change is also good; in some ways, it’s what keeps us going.
I cut all my hair off. (Or rather, I had a professional do it). I’m leaving the house more often, to spend time with the people I love. I’m reading books like they are food. Or air. Or both. I’m organizing.
I look in the mirror and hardly recognize myself.
Except this morning I got up and smiled at the outrageous case of bedhead I’d acquired during the night, looking as if I’d spent the night spinning on my head like a top. (Truly, it’s my superpower).
Ah yes, there I am.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
My inner hermit takes great comfort in that.
frozen
when i want to dance
rooted
when i want to fly
stiff
when i want to bend
smiling
when i want to cry
watching
when i want to close
my eyes
.
.
It’s snowing again and I have to get dressed up for a wedding, since, I suppose, pajamas would not be acceptable?
This week was a whirlwind of work, a week in which “normal” came back into my life with a vengeance, despite the fact that my body is not quite there yet.
But I am making progress, the same way that January is creeping across the calendar. One day at a time. Some days are warmer than others, some are calm, some are stormy.
Some days you have to wear a dress and high heels, and some days you get to stay in your jammies.
Either way, a smile is always the best accessory.
And some pretty lighting never hurts either.
your mark has left me wandering for days
solid stare and frozen poultice
broken skin and grey bone bruises
you refuse to reveal what you clock
and i refuse to ask questions
even so, you block my vision
hem me in
and i resent
your cut glass cloak
watching waiting listening
you’ve never been so temporary
my heat fills the room with black fire
because you refuse to hold color
and i have never been seen
.
.
.
when you’re finally done being silent
when the night is two hours too long
when open is all you can be
racing gently towards the lost sun
.
I can’t stop reading. Yesterday I finished one book, read another in its entirety, and began a third. (I also did all my work and cooked dinner, in case you were wondering.)
But, back to reading. I’m sure I’m not good company for my husband these days, with my nose always stuck in a book, er, kindle… but I can’t help myself. It’s all I want to do right now.
Of course, some of it I blame on the weather. It’s too cold to go outside, and a fire is a requirement on nights like these. But still, there are things I need to be doing, like finishing the massive reorganization of all my Christmas decorations for one. And continuing with the painting of all the woodwork in the house that I started last October for another. Plus an entire list of other projects and accomplishment that need ticking off.
But I can’t stop reading.
I’ve become a chain-reader. I’m addicted. I’m helpless. Ha.
I even read a non-fiction book yesterday, and I almost never do that. Which I am almost embarrassed to admit, but hey, it’s the truth–I love fiction. And chocolate.
If words were food, I’d weigh a thousand pounds. And keep right on eating.
But words are calorie-free, and these days, they don’t even take up that much space. And I can begin another at the press of a button (which is part of the problem). And it’s January, the month meant for reading.
Right?
I’ll stop one day soon. Maybe tomorrow. Or the next day.
Or at least I’ll go back to my habit of an hour or so before bedtime.
Then again, my tree may still be up for Valentine’s Day. It has a heart, and lots of red, so that works, doesn’t it?
Doesn’t it?
Say yes.
Please.
you think you need a beacon to guide you
when all you have to do is listen
your heart is always beating
bleating
making time
silence is a concept invented by the dead
and music is the door to eternity
everything you see is a story
told by the voice of your mind
whisper marry
murmur song
refusing to be censored
fairy tale potentate
in the dark
in the dark
in the dark
lifeblood’s memory
melody
refrain
.
.
.
