Adjustments

Tornadoes, tulips and tit mouse.

Spring has its many charms and also, threats. Intentional wildflowers along the back fence line are already knee-high, so I must sacrifice a few to plant a medley (melody?) of sunflowers. The swath of land given over to rewilding in the backyard increases, less a decision of mutual intent and more an outcome of not having the time or energy to tend to suburbia's standards of lawn care. Lawns – a symbol of eliteness and societal norms. Or maybe just another symbol of one trying to belong.

God, I love the moments just before dawn. Night veils become threadbare, slowly allowing enough light to begin making out the nuance of each leaf and flower. Hearing the very first bird notes of the day is never not a gift. What gifts do I give at this hour? I meditate on it.

*

Lately, a call arises to examine all the times I've surrendered to the longing of love in order to embrace patriarchy. Somewhere along the line my ancestors learned how to love manhood over justice. This is a sexuality and gender issue both for matters of identity and equality. The psychology of this is evident at the surface of life, and it's also a portal to the aphotic depths of psyche. I turn around to walk backwards into those choices and to pull on the threads of my existence as woman.

This is why it takes some of us so long to understand who we truly are. This is why there is war and destruction.

*

The leaves of the giant monstera plant begin to a burn a little in the direct sunlight. Adjust.

The garden cannot accommodate more rows of greens.
Adjust.

The dog can no longer hear.
Adjust.

The truth in me can no longer tolerate the false binary existence of love and sexuality in my own expression.
Adjust.