Fated Flame

In this order: wake, feed the dog, make coffee, build a fire, sit.

The last first kiss curls and billows as I jostle the fated flame into climbing. Today's build required a little extra attention of which I was happy to give. Tending fire has become an extension of love. Ministering to its needs is to attend its chaos; yet I serve in great peace and joy. Beloved, I am here. Where else would I be?

When the sun arrives, it never goes unnoticed. Light dazzles off snowy shoulders, casting diamonds everywhere. A hint of mist lifts off the pine tree trunk as the sun warms its back. On the way to Mt. Pleasant yesterday a cardinal was just sitting on the side of the two-lane highway like a red sock in a snow bank, inadvertently left behind. My heart said, “ be careful, beautiful one!” Beckett turned up our favorite song to sing together on road trips. How full a moment can be. How heavenly. How death could come and it would all be a beautiful deliquesce.

We continue to fill the greenhouse – day by day – plant by plant. Friday was planting Night Sky petunias in pots on the conveyor belt, then carrying trays of six pots each from the belt to their growing place on the greenhouse floor. My body aches after 8 hours but also, I am set free in the pain and goodness of it all. Plant, carry, repeat. It's warm in there and I sweat. The dirt from the filler is super fine and very light; it sticks to my skin and coats the inside of my ears, nose and lungs. I cough at night because of the dirt and I'm awake because of the sore body. I see your 2:15 a.m. and raise you 4:10.

On the way to work, I saw the moon for the first time in months. Like spotting the cardinal on the side of the road, I was like, “oh, hey!” and it caused me to remember all things you said about the moon and its strange locations. Anyway, maybe the metaphysics don't really matter as much as they once did. However, there are things you cannot say, things you know that you know that you know. The last first kiss hangs in the morning sky, thin at times, full and bright at others. But it is there, making molehills out of mountains, writing this love letter and the next.