Come Closer

A small break in the backyard canopy insists on gilding my tired face. October handles it all – the end of summer, winter prep, and a prayerful blessing rising as wood smoke for the pending birth of spring. What if October is not about briefly beautiful deaths but instead, the groundwork for possibility? Well, froglets late to the party might say otherwise. But who's in charge here?

Kale chips, savory cheddar soup, homemade bread. A chipmunk clucks incessantly like a dripping faucet, forcing me to wear headphones to think. There are two options when it comes to all the acorns nestled in the grass: rake them; wait for them to become a seedling and root them out by hand. Leaving them means a season of not being able to walk in the grass without shoes. So....rake them out it is!

My mom and her long lost sister will go with me to the famous flea market next week which is an event normally relished without an audience. There will be a band, so at least there's that.

Are we finally awake to the power ourselves? After midnight a laughing moon weighs in on the matter. “You can see me but not hold me. Am I less real?” To which I respond, “I cannot hear you. Come closer.”

Maybe if we touch the face of the moon we will live forever, beloved. I reach out my arms because that is what they were made to do.