winterless spring
a calendar page turned and i blinked and it's march, somehow, just this side of the ides. with full intention of continuing the momentum sagittarius season lit under me, i went to ground and then was swept out to sea by a squall of personal proportions.
there is a lot to think about, to ponder. most of it internal and quiet. done in something other than words. i think a lot about the action of mourning, planting grief to grow hope, hopes established on the bones of loss, their own fragility and tenacity. but mostly the constant state of mourning. perpetual action that must be honoured but i am so very tired.
routines establish and upend. new leaves and flowers bud and i wait with glee. what i can depend on, what is stable, when underneath all is rivers of rage, trying to find the sea of... what? understanding? belonging? change? the internal landscape of my wondering shifts even as i walk it, while i stop walking in real life. while i miss trees and paths and creeks and trails and flowers and moss and leaf litter.
things i miss, things i wish i could let go. new writing place. condensing.
the fog in the evergreens, the stone fruit blossoms. bright light of the grass even in clouds. something here.
i bought a tiny stack of green notebooks, no bigger than the palm of my hand, to tuck in my pocket. my notes. things i might wonder about or find meaningful. i sketched the tree they killed when it was only from memory, because i didn't know that was the last morning i would see it, the last sunrise that would catch in its giant limbs, the last spring it would bud, the last leaves it would loose. they've been cutting it up all week. how much more clear cuts we can make before exchanging breath is barely more than a death rattle. see? constant grief. mourning that should act, clear and refresh, have an end, something or bury or burn. i am burying and burning my whole life.
enshittification continues. i take two steps towards regaining some vestiges of agency only to look in the footprints i leave behind and see the logo of someone's spyware printed on the bottom of my shoe. pressed into the earth, even though i tried not to. what choices towards dignity can be made when a choice isn't even given. assimilate or die is not a choice. enjoy community or die is not a choice.
but i still have to be happy for my two steps. i have to acknowledge my efforts. i do really have to move my feet. i have to #wonder.
(#2026mar the 17th)