At the most, I’m laughing at myself for my lame-o attempt to write every day this month. And there is no ‘at the least’. I’m just laughing, and shaking my head, and doing what I can do.
Its been tough, and really good, and full and empty, and things were different than I thought and there has been a veil of sadness and I’m having to arrive at some hard decisions lately. So that is my November. My belly has been very full and complained in the most harmless of ways. It is all such a mix.
I have found the timer for the outside lights and gotten that all set up, those these first nights will probably be lit for the entire night as I’m just not savvy. . . and am craving more and more lights, but not out there. I’m imagining that I’ll end up with enough sparkle lights to leave the main lights alone. Something circus-y and yet deeply satisfying. Darkness fitting itself in and around the light.
We’ll arrive when we arrive, right?
I’m not there yet with healing and self-sufficiency in November, I’ve got a ways to go. There is grief, and dissatisfaction, and a growing need to assert. I’m not all that good with asserting myself and so sometimes I allow things that I should not, because there is noone around to point it out to me, what I am doing, this ‘allowing’.
The kettle is whistling for the hot cocoa to be made. Today was a first snow flurry of the season.
There is more delight than I could have foreseen in these teenaged years. Sometimes its just the tiniest moment between the tumults, but man, they are an entire world of glow. a secret look into the snowglobe of the world.
clamor, tumult, snowglobe shake.
i’m doing fine. My most fervent wish is that you are too.