Its like the balls of tinfoil candywrappers you find around the house after any holiday, but halloween and easter really seem to be the producers around here. the little bit of sparkle that is bitter when mouthed.
thats what its like. listening to myself when i’m scared of something.
and i’m scared, a little, of this small life i have, and the change inherent in the choice of vulnerability.
i have this brilliant life.. although there has been a lot of death this week, in life and in my chicken coop, and the contrast between humanity and farm has never been more clear.
the loss of 10 birds to a death by suicide?
wordless .
large break.
and remembering can be pretty hard sometimes. and imagining can be hard sometimes, too, when pain and deepest sadness are at root. and in a small life it can be all consuming.
but there are other sides to the coin, as always.
this small life, this dandelion of detail that keeps pushing its way into my foreground, this need to spread joy underground, to be persistent against all the formality and form of the ‘just so’… it is me digging in my heels against the perfect lawn, the ‘be happy’ mentality, against my own self-judgement for having a ‘mom’s boyfriend’… because i judge that phrase . so. damn. much. and i can withdraw more and more. and the small life warps a little… and again, and again, the dandelion bursts its sun into a million wishes… and who the hell am i to warp that?
and i’m so incredibly lucky and so incredibly heartbroken that not everyone finds the dandelion.
thats a sentence to end on…
