And the week has been lovely.

It’s late September and oh how
I love the wind and sun
And cool nights of big moons
And sitting still, watching
You in all your animation,
Alive.

Skin and bones and voice kinda day...

I knew not what the day would bring as I held my breath in anticipation...of discourse in the afternoon.

But during the day, I found patience and the presence of being. Small talk about small things. Music, loud and free. Good Food, nice scenery. Thank you.

It's not so much guilt. It is loss, and hopelessness, and just trying to understand why I'm just so jacked up about it all. Why now? And did I give you the chance to live, Bubba, or did I kill you too soon? And Daddy? Why didn't I give you the chance to make the decisions? I would have saved me a lot of hell. But you stood there so forlorn; perhaps I thought I was saving you from it. And then you took over the burial, thank god.

I am tired of weeping. I only want to understand.

And when I die, old and gray, the faces surrounding me will be beautiful in sight as well as touch. And I will feel truly blessed to have known them.

I awoke this morning in despondence of a dream where I am standing in the stingy rain, feeling too wet. While the heat rises off the pavement, burning my cheeks, burning my heart that beats too fast, I cannot catch my breath. Questions arise in the shadows. Is there something in my heart that I deny? Or am I trying to force meaning and rationalization where they do not belong? And I fear the answer to the former is yes. And I awake in a sweat, soaking wet.

The deep red crush fades into a blue day, and I am confused by thought, by action, and my brave new day that went awry. And the tenderness that scares me as much as words.