not sleeping anymore

walking down from Table Rocks,
(which are enormous table-y boulders with a spectacular view on the Mohonk ridge) I ask out loud
so how did that happen?
the rocks. arranged like that.
something to do with water? j says and I nod because water must have had something to do with it.
but the rocks! I wish I had more pieces to the geologic puzzle.
the divine majesty of god? j says and I smile.
oh yeah, I say. and I repeat it, ticking off
water, and
the divine majesty of god
on my index and middle finger,
two of the pieces of the puzzle.

at about 3 o clock last Thursday, e, who is four (and a half),
spontaneously starts the whole pre-k class chanting
the people, united, will never be defeated!
as they are putting away their blocks,
dismantling the giant sculpture
made for the toy whales sleeping, (not sleeping anymore). I join in.
all of it makes me smile in a way that I haven’t all day, and my eyes are really big and heavy all of a sudden and I almost cry just a little bit,
because these are the people I have to count on,
to put away all of the blocks, at the
end of the day.


related to plants, people, power, possibility

first post. same name. different look. new game.
it is a starting over, composting my last blog, and letting it be as it actually wants to right now,
right now, in the world, in the air, in the trembling of uncertainty, which feels like a new-old kind of hard time. an old kind of a new hard time.
testing our ears and our feet, checking up on if we’re listening.

are we listening?

so long since I wrote something on the internet that I feel some pressure building to correctly convey the kinds of things I want to say, fear that I won’t say them right.
but the truth is that I just want to be here, noticing the details.

‘peace requires everyone to be in the circle

isabel allende’s words that i saw written in large letters on a giant piece of paper hanging on the wall of the sixth grade classroom at work today.

this iteration of compost stories newly carves out a space for me to compose my thoughts (related to plants, people, power, possibility) in snapshots and segments and shards
that hopefully shed some of that golden light of the setting winter sun.