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diaryland

my view of the universe as it unfolds (in my neighbor's backyard)

10 February 2007 - 14:49

<<--unravel * reintegrate-->>

A kitten just woke up in the next room and cried softly until I came to see her. The sky is gray, dark gray, the kind of light that would make photographs gloomy rather than bring out their color.

I have two personal holidays, one to celebrate love, one the death of love. Today is the former, to commemorate the prediction I had in first grade of the day I would have my first kiss (I was wrong). I used to think there was something about me that pushed those I love away. Now I know that's not true, and I'm blessed with more love than I know what to do with today.

At the same time... nothing ever happens on February 10th.

Fluffy furry feet, wingbeats across the counter top. A rumbling purr. Tree branches creaking the wind. The coffee maker, newly beached, gulping air.

Coffee beans from thousands of miles away. My best friend here from a world away. My America, my new world. Can we start again? These days that tumble into each other, sometimes blindingly clear, sometimes hazy, moody, submerged.

I don't always know how to motivate myself, but today it's obvious that's not the point.

February 10th, homage to the future. Nothing ever happens today because there is no such thing as the future. The future is an illusion that propels us through our days, just as love once did for me. And perhaps I don't believe in love either -- not that kind -- not the kind a little girl longs for when she imagines kissing someone. Doing presupposes opposition. Romantic love presupposes separation.

This afternoon years of days blur together into one day as I stare out my kitchen picture window into the eyes of a stone angel in my neighbor's backyard. Nothing isn't so bad.

Bridge Tender

<<--unravel * reintegrate-->>