Day 44. 10 small moments

1. I talk too too much — even after promising myself that I wouldn’t. couldn’t… but here we are.

2. What matters most to me? // Our sanctuary is sacred, and I realize now that it is my full time job. // Companionship of sisterhood. // I suppose it would be nesting. // I will miss this, and I want to keep and cherish this time. // Hesitation. // It’s another way to say that I’m still creating. // My (re)burgeoning and my (re)openness. // Memories of sharing meals with caring strangers. // Can I please lose this bitterness? // Because it is the vessel for family connection and love. // There is no malicious intent here — and that is nice.

3. I watch the persimmon ripen on the tree each day. A meditative pleasure of wanting.

4. I come from a land where all of us have separate dessert stomachs, our primary bellies full. // I come from a land where Baba Yaga eats the marrow from stewed chicken legs, broken in half by strong fingers that caress my face with tenderness. // I come from a land where I am the black sheep, but my wool is dark and magnificent, and everything made with me is comforting to those I love.

5. alliteration and assonance

6. I imagined my offering to be a dark wooden bowl of persimmons and a small ceramic speckled bowl of ripe figs.

7. We work on modifying our portraits in a circle, the murmurs of women talking. humming. singing… I stitch thread and weave papers. Even distracted by the smile in the photograph, I am still transported.

8. Note: iron the botanical dyed silk on high heat between the layers of a paper bag.

9. I study all of the colorful scarves slowly rolling into themselves and each other while they hang to dry.

10. For balance, and because I suddenly feel lost, I run for two miles in the dry heat. I am surrounded by idyllic grapes hanging heavy from their vines, but I am too busy over thinking everything and working out internally. — “But I have promises to keep, And miles to go before I sleep, And miles to go before I sleep.”