Libra Issues

In the thaw, a return to the three-seasons room. More light and yet, the half empty tissue box is still on the floor from our last phone call. A light stack of papers spent the whole winter on the corduroy ottoman: printed lyrics to “Let it Be,” typed notes referencing the feminine reclaiming the power of the snake, a poem by Lucy Pierce, and a few hand scrawled questions I never asked you. Eucalyptus and lavender tied with twine hangs from the edge of the side table. With exception of mourning dove coos, it's quieter in here. Softer.

I remember freezing out here at 4 a.m. just to have a chance to connect. Slight frostbite on my left middle toe; candles and hot tea, burning.

If I'm honest, spring brings back what never left. If I'm dishonest, spring brings forth the new beginning.

Snowdrops by the creek.
Green curled funnels of emerging tulips.
Woodpeckers drumming out their call for love.

Our amethyst hangs on a string, cradled in copper wire, manifesting what it means to gift and to receive. The war is center stage but people seem to forget that it was always waging; always erupting; always proving what we are too sleepy to know. Tell me, what is next? Are we ready?

This sorrow and others. Work has taken more of me than I thought it would. The imbalance is not maintainable. Libra and her issues – am I right?