mood: nonchalant nonsense
walking through camp hill cemetery, i stop at the bench in rhodedendron shade. my bag is heavy with walking, thirty degrees, dried fruit, jam-bottles & a vacuum-package of italian cheese. i carry a small bouquet of basil, folding the vinyl leaves between smooth fingers, bringing greenness close so i can smell the spicy sunlight & earth. according to a.'s understanding, souls cannot travel at the speed of flight. they ploddingly arrive, when all is hushed in the hours, days, months that follow. i have been looking westward, waiting.
i am thinking of b. in ways that cannot possibly help except with the helplessness clenched tight around our family. and i wonder if the darkness seems so bleak, so incandescent when this story is your story. we are letting reason go, we are all letting go. there's a bit of l'engle that helps: to learn to love is to to be stripped of all love, until you are wholly without love. because until you have gone, naked and afraid, into this cold, dark place, you will not know that you are wholly within love. i want to go to the wharf & untie ropes, i want to smash dollar-store china from the train-track bridges that circle this city. instead, i plant seeds in terracotta pots, pressing my fingers into the soil. i add water.
when you move out from darkness (in the hours, days, months that follow) you are struck with the certainty, the suddenness of everything. so i walk home from the cemetery, still eating a half-peach offered me by pete of the frootique. i have plans for risotto & there is a full pound of cherries in my bag. i twinge with sadness but it is the most glorious of summer days.
i am thinking of b. in ways that cannot possibly help except with the helplessness clenched tight around our family. and i wonder if the darkness seems so bleak, so incandescent when this story is your story. we are letting reason go, we are all letting go. there's a bit of l'engle that helps: to learn to love is to to be stripped of all love, until you are wholly without love. because until you have gone, naked and afraid, into this cold, dark place, you will not know that you are wholly within love. i want to go to the wharf & untie ropes, i want to smash dollar-store china from the train-track bridges that circle this city. instead, i plant seeds in terracotta pots, pressing my fingers into the soil. i add water.
when you move out from darkness (in the hours, days, months that follow) you are struck with the certainty, the suddenness of everything. so i walk home from the cemetery, still eating a half-peach offered me by pete of the frootique. i have plans for risotto & there is a full pound of cherries in my bag. i twinge with sadness but it is the most glorious of summer days.
2 comments:
i made risotto for dinner tonight! i miss you too, but thinking of delicious picnics & pastries that we will make after market dates & elaborate frootique lists gives me more reasons to look forward to returning to halifax.
x, h
b?
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