Photo Freewrite: Week 35/36

With so much on fire, it’s nice to see something soft and green take over.


There’s a jewel in the center. But it’s not the prize. Let’s maze our way there slowly and make plenty of mistakes.


I picked these flowers from my yard. All the others I’ve picked have faded in less than a week. But this plucky crew decided to stick around, grow roots and thrive. They’ve been gracing my kitchen window for over a month. Weird little miracles.


I thumbed a dozen seeds into the spring dirt and less than half bloomed into gangly, uneven beasts. All that work, scaling upward, just to feed the bees and have two people point and say ooh…look…the sunflower. And then back you go, unraveling yourself and crashing back into the ground.

What if we took more guidance from accidental maps and imaginary landscapes? What if we un-secreted the messages left in long-ignored corners?


I went to lift a sagging stem of this seemingly soft plant and discovered its thorns. Maybe it didn’t need my help. Maybe it needed my tenderness instead.

Open my head wide and let all the sun in. Unhinge my neck and let all the words out. Leave me on a grassy ledge to let all the passers by fall into wonder about how we got here.


Someone down the street got tired of it all and chucked this tool of division to the curb.


One of the guys in the punk rock house told Sean that the noisier crew there were moving out. Sean told him he moved here in ‘92 with a punk band so he’s glad there’s still punk in Portland. But be neighborly, the guy responded. I get it. They exchanged numbers and went on with their days and the world became a slightly better place.


The rain will come. Nearly too much of it to bear. No use in wishing for an early arrival. Now is the time to take in the heat and watch the shadows try and spark a flame.


The whole world feels made of spike and haze today. In other words, find me lying on the floor listening for the water that will carry me through.


Still spiky and a bit bruised. But more roly poly today. And wrapped in a cushion of questions as I bump along among the very certain and the always right.

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