the time of the snail



where have the past two months flown in drifting colours and leaves raked up again and again and that first frost and that first snow against a grey sky turned pale blue.  and where was i during it all reveling in soup's bubble and the draining of the garden heated and then put under the artificial frost of the freezer.  words pouring over me embedding themselves across my skin and revealing themselves to my heart.  the strings plucked and the last corners licked in an amazed slather of colour and light.

where have the past two years flown in changes underneath my skin pricked and poked and woken up again and again until i can't remember what it was to be numb.  even though i was for such a long time.  but when i read through the pages documented, it doesn't show at all and the blank spaces reveal the oddity of where i have been most alive. 

my blog contradicts my life so acutely that i wonder what is real and what is make believe.   and i see her and remember her and what it was like to be her but i am no longer her, not at all, only in the memories that brought me back to me.  right here.  right now.

and really that is all there is at the end of the day. 

during the past two years, i have sorted and organized and painted and built and cleaned and re-organized and somehow it all came together and became a life.  the work is never done but that work, that work is done.  the learning how to live after the shattering, that work is done.  and i find myself opening the door tentatively which is a new thing, a new way that i now move through the world.  the insecure jump of a shattered life is over replaced by this need to move slowly backed up by a confidence that i never knew existed in this old body of mine.  next steps are careful and slow, a snail that eventually gets to where she is going and you can follow the wet trail through the garden if you look closely enough.  there are no loud proclamations, no banging and tears cry look at me, a softness that is angled waiting and watching and living in the motions of quiet work.

i am quietly working and quietly living and quietly shining

over here

in my little corner of the universe.  and it is good.