a whole year
This weekend is the baby’s birthday. She will turn one and as I write this from my studio I am just a few feet from the bed where we slept and spent much of our early time together.
We watched the first winter storms roll in windy and dramatic. We watched the garlic field fill with weeds after the harvest. We watched the squirrels do their important and noisy work of collecting.
Mostly though, I watched her. I watched her sleep, wake, eat, stretch her fingers and toes in the air. I watched her eyes begin to focus and the unexpected grace and gentleness that her sister brought to loving her.
I watched as people called on various screens to meet her, the kind of strange bittersweet act of intimacy that this pandemic has allowed. I felt the ache of what it was like to not have people hold her, meet her tiny self. I wasn’t going to write about her birthday, sharing the first year of life with the other constant companion of navigating this pandemic that we all find ourselves in but here we are, still.
At this point, as each day is still a navigation of care, safety, isolation, and anticipating what will come next, I return often to wonder about what shape other peoples lives have. One of the strangest aspects of this time for me has been the lack of sharing experience with people. Of course I miss celebration and togetherness but I also miss the raggedness and places of friction that touching each other allows.
I wonder how we hold possibility alone and collectively. What do we do with risk? What and where do we find ourselves celebrating? Who are are our companions in this moment?
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Xo,
C