the blue muse

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Because it’s Friday and sometimes, you just have to.

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Wishing you a weekend filled with sunshine.

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the dust doesn’t keep the light from getting through

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light and dark
opposite ends of the spectrum

both can blind you

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all the places you can see,
really see

swirl around in the center

grey matter
leaning one way or the other

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centrifugal force
the only offer of balance

shades and shadows

light and dark

spinning truth
and endless prism

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It’s frigid outside. Frigid.

But the sun is shining this morning, a bunny forages for stray seed, and this hydrangea, with last year’s petals hanging on, stands tall.

Fragile is always stronger than you think.

Resiliency comes in many forms.

Life shines through, always.

And at the end of this week, another crazy, busy, rushing-through-life week, that is enough.

A tiny smile for a rabbit, a flower, the sun.

Enough.

a soft white blanket spilling over the edges of everything

comfy

cozy

sometimes just a bit too heavy

spinning dreams of green and life’s long essence

weighting

waiting

cupped hands

filled with warmth

whew

I finally got all the decorations down, and now I miss the tree, or more precisely, I miss the light filling that corner of the living room.

All the snow has melted, and there is mud everywhere I turn.

I’m still not feeling back to “normal,” which actually makes me laugh because in truth, I can’t remember ever feeling normal, but you know what I mean.

But I do have a lovely amaryllis blooming on the kitchen table, and baskets of fairy lights in all the darkest corners, and soon it will be cold again, the mud will dry, or freeze, or get covered by a pretty blanket of snow.

Last night I took the dog outside and there was the moon, almost full, lighting my way. Orion was there as well, (my favorite constellation) offering his shoulder for her to cry on. But, instead, I thought I saw her smiling, as if we had a private joke between us.

And that’s what I’ll remember about yesterday, not the mud, or the greyness, or the little bit of dizziness that keeps creeping up on me when I least expect it.

I’ll remember that moon and her wry midnight smile.

She knows all the best stories.

and standing in one place can’t slow the passage of time

still

there are moments you can hold in the palm of your hand

moments that stop you in your tracks

moments that bring you to your knees

with the beauty of it all

and this is what feeds you

keeps you going

arms stretched wide

drinking it in

still

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milk white winter light

frozen filter

fallen veil

spin spin spin

beneath a moon too cold

to offer laughter

wait for home

wait for gentle

wait for night

leave no footprint

in this landscape

of yesterday’s

reflection

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Because it always seems like a good idea at the time, keeping things the way they are, holding tight, refusing to let go.

Until the day comes when that release is automatic, you do it without even thinking, you turn around while making the bed and see something that’s been sitting on a shelf for years and years. See it. In a whole new way.

And you realize it doesn’t belong there any longer, it needs a new place, it’s time for a change.

Maybe it’s just that it’s January, a new year, a cold winter. Maybe it’s just that I was sick forever and I’m ready to get on with it, ready to clean out the cobwebs. Ready to get rid of anything that isn’t, as they say, beautiful or useful. Ready for change.

“There are years that ask questions and years that answer.”
~ Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God

I feel that shift, from questions to answers. Although, of course, I will always choose to sit with the questions. Those answers tend to be loud and boisterous and bossy, and quite frankly, in my opinion, questions have far more to offer.

But every so often, you have to give an answer a chance. Because it might just surprise you. You might even become great friends.

I’ve been questioning, for some time, the role of this space, here, and while I don’t yet have the perfect answer, I feel the need for a change. A spring cleaning, if you will. Dusting under things and rearranging, repurposing and discarding.

A new shape. A new direction.

Fresh air.

Let me know if you have any thoughts on what you’d like to see.

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