One moment you’re a star. One moment you’re a puddle. It’s the same moment.
I don’t know. I keep writing and erasing. Erasing isn’t really part of freewriting rules. But who’s in charge here? Who decided, that instead of straight metal bars, to go with the a more elaborately patterned panel? As far as I can tell it’s just some kind of utility shed. It sits next to the reservoir, kind of dumpy and well…utilitarian. But there was a day when someone’s attention landed on this one particular detail and they made a choice toward beauty.
Maybe we call it a tangle. But there is no confusion here. Each branch (nerve, blood vessel, life) grows where it needs to, into its own space. So what if that space is narrow or requires a tight curve? Support is both available and unavoidable. Please, rest along the way.
Rise up out of the earth, the place where cold mud turns molten. Get dressed in green. Sink back to where you began.
Slip out your skin, that frail, clingy thing all wrinkled and pale. People may pass you by. They may not bother, thinking you’re too common. But you are everything: A faucet of green tapped to the mud, pulling up juicy drops of spring.
nofilter as they say. But no, filter. The filter of atmosphere. The filter of lens. The filter of eye. The filter of must post to Instagram. The filter of late afternoon exhaustion. The filter of having eaten nothing but a stale protein bar for lunch. The filter of wanting to lay beneath my 17lb cat. The filter of good enough.
The pilot shows up in a leather bomber jacket as if playing the part of a pilot. Mothers try to convince their children to be quiet, use the bathroom, be amused by ugly, awkward toys. It’s not so early that we sit quiet and groggy. This crowd is smiling and cheery. They can’t wait to get into that 9 degree cold. They can’t wait to go so they can arrive.
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