I've been mulling over the ordinary things in life: my pen and paper, cold water, the tomato and eggplant. They transform as soon as I take notice, revealing something extraordinary.
I read a collection of modern haikus the other day, and the words that stayed with me were Quarantine! Finding comfort! Coronavirus! Butterfly! Moon! Breeze!
After that first sighting, orange started popping out at me. I could see it from a block away, waving me down, "Look at me! Look at me!" But it's funny how once you start looking for something, you start seeing it all the time.
Wise and funny friends
Give their best advice
Four words or fewer
Maybe all you need
What will be my Quarantine Story, what tales will I tell in five years, or 10 or 20? Will it be a story of victory or sadness, revelation or survival, entertainment or boredom, or even joy? Which stories will last, and which will be of the moment?
This week I'm looking to see or hear what the trees are trying to tell me, They are stark and dramatic now, and their personalities revealed without the extravagance of leaves. The trees' rain-darkened bones stand out clearly, accentuated against the skies' lighter backdrop.
When you do something outside your comfort zone, it opens doors to doing other new, hard things. You're brave in one way, why not be brave in others? Creating a blog informed the way I write, the way I play music, how I try new things.
Robert Hunter, the lyricist for the Grateful Dead, was also the lyricist for my life. His words threaded through my life since I was 21, when I met some new friends, Harold and Alan, and a community of people that became my tribe. Would I be who I am without Hunter?
I danced with writing all my life, but I just haven't made it work out how I want. It's like a cha cha, forward and back, forward and back. Ugh. I want to boogie all over the dance floor.