nothing doing

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been thinking how happy i am to be getting back to friendship. the old way of friendship. the lazy, sitting around, feet pulled up underneath us, doing nothing kind of friendships. this is how friendship felt in my 20s before real adulthood (and for some of us, motherhood) set in, and god, have i missed it. all the busy-ness has filled up our lives to the point where we can’t even find the time to sit around without making appointments on our calendars. got time to do nothing with me on saturday? yes? great!

for me, nothing-doing has been sorely missed. i’m really feeling done with clicking on the same dozen sites over and over, just longing for connection. that connection and contentedness of good old fashioned, face to face nothing-doing.

let’s bring it back, shall we?

this breath

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he fell asleep so gently right here next to me tonight. mere seconds ticked past between the deciding to lay down and the slow rise and fall of boy sleep. one hand curls tight into his bare middle, his silhouette a rolling landscape of shoulder, waist, hip, and legs in a tangle. his other hand rests limp at his side like a fallen bird, feathery soft fingers. his thoughts left hanging somewhere between swimming and reading and this living room couch.

i rest my hand on his soft, cool side and let it ride the heavy in-out, in-out. through the windows, the crisp breath of evening makes the curtains float in like ghosts. my own breathing unravels in a long sigh. in-out, in-out, this breath is a gift. the last month of summer is hours away now and soon morning will replace this night or the breath or the breathing, the hushed light of day, never promising us anything.

(written after reeling all day about this local tragedy that took place at our new-favorite camp)

blackbirds on green

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the pictures, they’re the only thing that seem to fit just right. that’s why i keep taking them.

i spend an embarrassing amount of the rest of my time working, thinking about aging, folding laundry, pining, and trying NOT to eat as many cookies as i think i need. i am reading a book and watching a series, but they’re not the kinds of things that feed me. and they sure as hell don’t feel like this photo feels. the brilliant green. the sun shining through the blackbirds’ wings. the fuzzy landscape. the poetry. it’s the poetry i can’t get enough of.

where do you find the poetry? or whatever it is that fills you up? and what do you do when you can’t even identify what it is you need?

young birder

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i’ve been dragging C out here to chase birds for so long, and he doesn’t even seem to mind it. on this night, it was blackbirds, cranky lady night herons, egrets, marsh wrens, grackles, and bullfrogs.