Commuter marriages are hard. Except when you’re finally together and then they are fantastic.
I’m on a train, a few hours from seeing my honey. I don’t make a big effusive deal; that’s just not my style. But yet! I am bursting with joy and trembling and I want to shout it! That I love this man more every day.
This has been a post.
I haven’t always loved my mother as well as I should have, but that has changed, and I am grateful, because life is teeming with opportunities to show her.
Six more days. Can’t wait.
Me neither. I need some Ron time.
I spent all morning tending a fire pit so I’m stoned on tree sap smoke. Really.
What do you have in your hand, she asked me.
It’s nothing, I replied. Only just a firefly I caught in the yard. The first one I’ve seen this year.
Jesus fuck, she said, suddenly furious. Why do you always have to do that? Why do you have to capture and hold onto everything? Why can’t you ever just let something exist?
I’m sorry, I muttered. I didn’t want it to get away.
There’s no such thing as only words. Words are fertile and productive; they - create; transform; are ripe with power.