Yes. And no.
I worked in the garden until it rained hard and I had to come in.
Then I tackled the pictures. The pictures from forever ago. In boxes, half stuck together, mice-chewed edges, memories oh yes, memories.
There were three boxes. I keep feeling like there's another one somewhere.
I didn't know where to begin so I began to simply put them into piles of this person and that.
These two, those two, all of us, piles, stacks. Whatever.
That was as far as I could go with it and at least there is some order, as un-ordered as it is, and they are all tucked safely into boxes with lids bought years ago and never once opened until today, the plastic still wrapped around them.
And I threw a million pictures away. The overly-blurred, mostly. The people I didn't even recognize. The children of people I don't know any more.
I burned them. They are still burning.
They are not part of my life any more.
I guess that's good.
It's something, anyway.
I know there's another box somewhere.
I can't even bring myself to go look for it.
And Mr. Moon is on his way home with a couch, a bed, a refrigerator. Where will these things go?
I remember when getting new things was a joy.
I remember a lot of things. Not every thing by any means.
Now I've added more fuel to that fire. All the old letters given back to me that I'd written to a friend of mine who is dead. I've put them to the flame and now they're gone too. All those words and all those days. They are gone, baby, gone.
I think I'm having an old-life crisis. Or maybe it's just Sunday.
I found an old friend on Facebook today but I didn't/haven't written her. And when I was going through the pictures today, there she was with her baby whom I see on Facebook is grown (of course) and who has children of her own.
I just don't have it in me to reach out. I just don't have it in me to reach back.
Smoke and flame and ash. Maybe I'll scoop it all out when it's cool and sprinkle it on my garden.
There. That would be a positive thing to do.
There is nothing ever truly disappeared from this universe. It is okay to change, however, the form of the energy. At least, that's what I think. We humans can't really do much, but we can do that.
We can grow collards from our memories. We can fertilize tomatoes with chicken shit. We can collect the waste and create life of a different kind.
That is the sort of newness I can still find joy in. That is something that in this crazy world I can still make some sense of.