Tuesday, March 19, 2019
It had snowed in early Spring, and a warm snap caused a cloak of mist to settle among the trees. I walked in the heavy air, so dense it made my breath sound like that of a stranger. I was grieving, and the stillness was a salve. Moving shapes emerged and I found myself among a herd of deer; they slipped around me on invisible legs, horns soft as wings against the swirling ether. I froze, I held my breath. They paid no mind to my presence. I wondered if we were ghosts.
2 days ago
Each tool mark represents a moment when I was here, and you were there. While I pushed a grain of glass into place, burned my fingers, stared into space, wrote, wept, you were there, and I could feel you, making your art, feeding your family, laugh-crying on a zoom call, nurturing your garden, learning to wear a mask, caring for a sick parent, turning off the news, turning on the news, searching for hope, giving in to despair, facing fear, kneeling, praying, shouting, vowing, memorizing the smell of your child's hair, seeing for the first time the slant of the sun in just this hour at just that moment.