*originally written 7.2.20 Darby Dan training loop and Greenway trail, 5.52 Sometimes we learn things we have believed for decades to be untrue. Like the wiry, dry flowers lining highways in July are chicory, not cornflowers. (They are both blue) Or that friendships can grow and change and evolve through conflict into something new.
originally written 9.2.20 *remote six a.m. and coffeecoffeecoffee to seven or eight post meridian Eyes glossy and bloodshot from the night before learning not how to slay aliens and other things But how to Zoom without crashing and burning and how do I know my eyes are glossy and bloodshot? Because Zoom tells me.
In that space of knowing Something needs to be done But not knowing What it is What to do Where to go How to say it What to feel I lace my sneakers And press the soles into soil softened By an overnight rainstorm In that space of knowing I should be writing But not …
Sometimes we need to take one step back from the chaos in the world (read more)
Our last class discussion was devoted to calming the fears of eleven year olds
The children you want to send to my classroom
in the fall
are not
the same children who left my classroom
in the winter.
Sunrise
is non-billable therapy for
loneliness
When was
the
last
time
Are you going to be
the same person
at the end of the pandemic
as you were
at the beginning?
Distilling my day
into words
should not be so difficult.
In July, migraines make mornings start
before meditation and journaling.
The heat you went to bed with
is the heat you wake up with.
Neighborhood, 3.2 Another sleepless night ebbs into a morning of walking
How do people live
the unexamined life?
Why is it so hard
to learn from our mistakes?
To see them as lessons
or, Things Learned Walking 5 Miles on the Solstice
East to West, Roundabout
The distance traveled by
a roadkill raccoon's liver
is twice that
First day cycling since fall.
Why not sooner?
Come home to nap
on the deck
Words by Beth 