My fairytale.

“Yes, I need you, my fairytale. Because you are the only person I can talk with about the shade of a cloud, about the song of a thought—and about how, when I went out to work today and looked a tall sunflower in the face, it smiled at me with all of its seeds.”
-- Vladimir Nabakov -- 

Implosions.

thank you,
yes,
in a minute I will have had enough
in a minute I will be full up

here in the swell of my chest

the anxious scrabbling of the beat
of my heart is a word


I will say it and

in a minute everything will change

and it will be something loud, lingering

at least
in the silent after

I will breathe again

The how and the why of us.

We've been marking time in leaves. An awareness of the seasons, the tiniest changes that mark new weather, new life, has become something I know intimately, a tender, secret mark in the marrow of my bones. It's that way for all of us, I know. It's been stitched into the fabric of our family. It's how we've come to know ourselves.

It's strange to think of it, but the park has become almost a silent member of our family. It's our touchstone, the thing that draws us together every day, as nourishing as a family dinner every Sunday. It's the comfort of bowed heads and prayers, hand holding and snuggles.

My oldest daughter discovered her love of snakes here. She uncovered the strangest bugs and snared toads. She's named her favorite trees and come to know the paths as well as she knows herself. It's where she first began testing out her limbs, the strength of her muscles. Running down sidewalks, climbing small walls, jumping with abandon.

My youngest has followed in her big sister's footsteps, spotting skinks and cooing over copperheads slithering across the path in front of us. She's fallen and scraped her knees and we've celebrated it, the essential childhood markers of scabbed knees that come from exploring your world to the fullest, the healing that comes from picking yourself up and moving on again. It's a challenge and a blessing for her, a life lesson in every single moment. She gets stuck on the smallest details, the tiny grasshoppers and the snails--and the bigger details, too. The largeness of her big sister. The wild calling of the world.

Together we've learned the value of getting lost in a moment, of escaping the everyday. We've become us, the complicated tangle that we are. It always seems to get smoothed out on the trail. Where together we can just be.

This year has been more special somehow, watching the floods take over our park and recede again. The landscape has changed, and we're relearning the paths and the magic of it all. In the heat of summer we're already thinking of fall, ready to feel the cooler wind. Ready to watch the leaves change. Ready to see how we change with them. Again and again.

A time lapse of helplessness and grit.

"It's the crookedest, jumbliest little house. But it's happy, now, and so am I. It's been worth the exercise, worth the filth, as change always is, no matter how sore or how broke you are the next day. It's a time lapse of a helplessness and grit, turns of growing up and growing softer until you land somewhere in the middle, safe and sufficient."

(From here.)