I’m watching what I can of the sunrise. Pink swirls, purple cover. ribbons of light cream, there’s the blue undertone. I was greeted by the silhouette of a bird and said good morning, “you’re up early.” A squirrel scampers through the leaves I didn’t rake, but they are keeping my beds and my grass warm. They look like millions of red mittens scattered and I’ll leave them where they fall.
There will be people who will tell you how to live and you can say thank you and walk away. You can hear what they have to say and be open to it or not or at first not be open to it at all, but chew it around for a while and figure out what you can get from it. Then there’s also the people who show you how to live without telling you anything. It’s not about telling people, but walking with them.
We got a few trick-or-treaters last night. They came in strange bunches. they rang our 100-year-old door bell that always scared the bejezus out of me and there’s always the mother who says “yeah there are two more kids down the street that you can’t see right now” and holds out 2 more bags of candy. You don’t want all that extra candy around anyway, so you just give it to her. Does it really matter? I don’t need the extra layer of fat this winter. That’s what coats are for.
There is someone out there that I love and I want to tell them that I see them. That I love them.
I’ve been thinking about birds and bird tattoos and getting birds tattooed all over my body so I can pretend to fly. Jump as high as I can off the ground and that one second of suspension will be enough to keep me coming back, coming back to jumping to taking leaps. Why does the idea of flight seem so open, so freeing? I’m wanting words to fly. I’m connecting more and more the two parts of myself. I can feel it. I want them to bang around in the same pipes together.

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