turning towards

fall, home, off-ramps

In a recent conversation with a friend, they were telling me about how they are actively looking for the off-ramps. They are looking for the places that the body settles down, that the space between things grows so it starts to look alive, verdant, and possible.

For a few weeks I have been thinking, I need to document my days right now. To document as an excuse to notice. To do something where I slow my gaze enough to be delighted in the hummingbirds high in the eucalyptus. The skitter of the lizards over the piles of tools. The sharp drop in temperature as the dew arrives.

I haven’t done it. Instead I have barreled headfirst into ongoing practice/process of unearthing our things in the move, methodically calling to have things fixed, warranteed, moved into spots where they don’t shudder and wobble. I move my bare feet over the floor like sensors noticing the feel of the finish or where the finish bubbles up.

I wake up for hours in the night not sure where I am thinking about bolts, seals, lights, and dust.

I take care of the children and they tell me about how they are. How their innumerable friends are doing, how many teeth they have lost, how many handstands they did, where they ate the beans, the rice, the apples. Each descriptor of their lives sounding like distant poems.

Sand. Counting stitches.

My best friend and her silly slippers.

Knit. Pearl.

Dragon Pageant.

Two braids. One braid.

Sunrise.

This is not an attempt to be cloying. Or even to make sense. But when  I hear them talk about these things. I hear…that is your offramp. You are learning a song and you will sing it in a group. You will be brave and it will let you feel the power and freedom in your body.

My fingers in your hair, parting it down the middle, brushing, tucking each strand. Smelling you. It lets you be soft. Held. Taken care of.

I have some off-ramps too and I notice myself in the early morning before the sun comes up going outside in the fog. Letting my feet get cold. Staring at clouds, morning stars, the dust, or the fog. A few breaths and then I am more awake.

I am looking for where they already are, those off ramps, moments of regulation and pause.

This certainly is one, what are yours?

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Reading:

Rough Beauty:

Re-reading this excellent book about the forty seasons in Colorado written by a poet.

Lots of Jim Harrison poems

Here is the list of books mentioned here on Bookshop.

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Listening:

Mostly to power tools but also Sessa

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