My dreams have been filled with time traveling, both literal and moving back and forth through the layers of my own life. Excavation isn’t pretty or conducive to good sleep. Human sharks, tiny hands thrown up in defense just turn to bait.
I want to start over, pure and clean, with no blood trail dripping across the snow white pages. Blood so hot that each footprint burnt its way down to the back cover, and maybe even through.
Yes I’m being vague. It mimics the drifting unease I wake with, that won’t be pinned down and won’t quite dissipate.
It’s strange to carry around so much rage yet still feel like one of the happiest people I know. The smallest things make my eyes shine with appreciation, this moment and this moment and THIS moment. Tickle fights and laughing until we can’t breathe and singing until my throat is raw and husky. Glitter painted toenails and fur-lined blankets against naked skin.
I’ve been basking in the late-arriving spring. Mother Nature is laughing at us all. Our audacity, our self-absorbed haughtiness. She doesn’t have to lift a finger to avenge her rape, we will dim-wittedly destroy ourselves.
It is gorgeous here now, though. Drive-by hailstorms followed by piercing light. Ice-coated blossoms. Mushroom season finally arrived, I truly wondered if it would this year. There will be tender, savory fried morels this week. I will happily eat them every day.
I was watching my weeping cherry trees in full white bloom, the wind swirling petals to the ground beneath them. On top of the trees delicate white butterflies, each as tiny as a petal itself, would spiral into the air riding on the currents and eddies before settling down on the branches again. It seemed for a time as if gravity had ceased to exist, that I might be watching from the ground or the sky, suspended weightless as a flower with wings in that golden green light.
It’s strange the places that people will look for magic and awe and connection when all of those things are surrounding us at all times.