It's raining. Thanks the gods.
Softened in the tide of falling sky, the aftermath of a reckless morning, tipped bamboo, cats scurrying, little black rocks, jagged and scattered across an otherwise spotless kitchen floor. Such agony, for such little, little rocks. Everything was so heavy. Everything can be made so heavy so easily. The simplicity of forgetting, and of becoming a rock.
You step away. You let the clouds come down. And I feel lighter now.
Sliding back 16 days - boxes like a fence. Solid, smelling like dust and elbow grease. Two shots couldn't fix the strain, but the glass of red wine the next night, after the 13 hours of moving, after the 5 hours of sleep, after the fire -- it was enough.
And choosing the drawer for the silverware. Who would have thought 'nesting' could be so endearingly fulfilling? I have the mail key on a Guiness keychain. We set up the DVD player, watch old movies while unpacking. There is a place for the cotton balls in both bathrooms. My closet is large enough to do cartwheels. Lighter. Just letting it all fall into place.
We are entering the Season of Promises, where people set themselves in stone. They are unmovable in their commitments. Or at least, this is their wish, at one point. Sometimes, it works. Sometimes, the water cleans out all foundations that have been laid, and people start over. Build again. Nothing is ever broken for long. There is always a way out, if you want it.
I am dark again. I am effervescent and uncompromising in my ambiguity. I am loved, and comfortable in my placing. I am happy, despite myself.
Outside, it smells wonderful.