Go to bed wake up in a different world. Take a nap, wake up in a different world. Go to town, judge your mind-set by how much you love/do not love humanity. By if your heart swells or does not swell, but indeed grows weary by the sight of blooming dogwoods. Barely care if you are seeing star gardenias or some other plant, masquerading. Enter the Holy Hallways of the Costco, pass by the samplers, walk beneath/beside the towering stacks of furniture, electronic devices, organic coconut oil, wine, bowls, dishes, dog beds, dog food, coffee, vacuum cleaners, cheeses, hunks of meat, potpies the size of hubcaps enough to feed a starving village in India if they ate meat, bags and bags of chips of corn, potato, veggie, ancient grains, avocados in string bags, papayas standing straight up, nested in plastic, try these Angus burgers! Walk between rows of almost-mature magnolia trees and Leland Cypress, pretend (if you can) that you are walking down an ancient lane in Italy. Do you see the azaleas, there, far in the distance beyond the outdoor seating arrangement?
The sparkle of the diamonds, emeralds, rubies, sapphires in the jewel case makes me want to be so tiny that I could dance among them, using their light-spears as disco balls.
I got: prunes, almonds, yogurt, tomatoes, organic raisins.
That was all.
Go for a walk. Wonder what in hell these are going to be used for.
Note the thick blooming of the dewberries.
See the sharp, deep imprint of the dainty doe's foot as she leaped/bound across the path. Do not try to ford the puddles, wide and deep as tiny ponds. Just turn around, walk a different way. The rain has been generous, the path holds the sacred water as long as it can in the palm of its hand. Note the way the fallen tree is even yet putting forth new leaves. Wonder at nature's fierce desire to seed and make more of itself, remember how that felt in your own womb, your own limbs, your own blood and bones and arms and mouth.
Spring. The season affects me and I become disordered.
Disoriented as well.
Go to bed, wake up, wonder if it is still winter or maybe fall, realize no, spring. Again. Summer is the one season here about which there is never any doubt.
Tomorrow the solstice, my grandson's birthday.
I am counting on waking up tomorrow a different person and it would be nice if that person were me.
We'll see. We'll see.