7 days in a week. 52 weeks in a year.
weeks have gone by – recent ones having weight to them that keeps them planted here in front of me, where as weeks long gone are floated away from my visions, my memories, up and up and up until I have to search for them, seek them out.
Weeks go by, and winter becomes summer which becomes spring, so nice. Except when it’s low 30s overnight – oh well. No black bears wandering the neighborhood, so I should be happy right?
happy. Like looking at Blue as she bunny hops as i hold her dinner above her food bowl – she loves her some green beans – who knew?
happy. Like looking at the trees as they wake up from their nap, stretch oh so slightly, then commence with their magic show – bumps becoming blossoms, twigs becoming home to leaves and flowers, a trip to Raleigh showing me the colors – oh the colors – of spring!! ( I really have to say I hadn’t noticed before – perhaps the greys turning to mulit-hued springtones, perhaps…)
Springtime, when hope builds up, so the fails and falls hurt that much more, eh? But still, we keep our heads up – looking to the sky for sure signs we can relax, we can commence our frolicking by the sea, into the waves to feel the pull and the push of water that’s been here from time immemorial – heavy weighty water that washes and rinses and cleans. Cleans our souls, cleans our dreams, cleans our senses. Water.
There are great things about being more aware than you’ve been for years. See above, along with my ‘springtime’ pics. There are not so great things about being aware. You notice that even though you’ve walked paths fraught with sadness, you have no magic words to soothe, to express how dearly you wish things could be different, things could be better, that pain could be turned to paint, to color in the memories and make them solid and real and mounted on the walls in the hallways of our lives. so that with a turn of our head we can see the beautfiul and the happy and the good, no matter that they are lost to us now, gone on to their rewards, onto their lives not with us here, in our lives. Odd that.
I have hopes. I have belifes that allow me to be … here. now. happy with what I have. I hope that my friends have similar powers – super powers I guess – that will help them. Still, my words fix not the tears on their faces, or the tears in their hearts. Hugs applied, meak words spoken, gestures filled to the brim with truth of love, still empty compared to the holes and the abyss. I offer this, which is not much at all.
Love helps hurts.
Give time to your pain, no shortcuts exist.
and know your friends and family love love love you.
Bubbie, you are missed. Nonie, you are missed. Pops Starczewski, you are missed.
24 hours in a day, every day, every single day. Smile for as many of them as you can.