all we are is where we have been // all we feel is where we are not
♾️
In the pre-dawn hours, as I circle the sun once more and with the new moon’s dark start, this echos in my body again and again.
with faces drawn by my kiddo
provisions for holding the light + dark with all the tender that I can bear
Hold fast dear ones
🌬️ fair winds and following seas
I’m still learning my own patterns. The deepest parts of winter, it seems, are quiet parts for me. Caves. Early nights. Not sure where the sky ends or where the ground begins. Not alone or lonely. Not making or consuming. No fires or bright lights. A little water, dry snacks, rest. No distress, just quiet. Maybe it takes a couple months of lengthening days. Maybe I thaw with the sap. Whatever it is, I’m here. Still here. Grounded and emerging. Squinting in the light.
Will they remember that we travel with poems to memorize, with their plants, podcasts, and pets? Or will they remember the U-turns for both magical stops and missed turns? I hope they remember it all.
