Sunrise

Driving east in the semidarkness, I crest a hill to find the sky floating over the Sierras in wide ribbons of rose, gold, teal. Morning is heading west to meet me.

Winter Trees

On the bike path, dried husks of seed pods cling to the tree, lit from within and hissing against each other in the breeze.

•get on to the bus•

Soul Coughing, and red velvet, and peering out at the large world through large windows. Those words remind me of Pittsburgh. To your commute, on this Tuesday! xox

Begin Again

This morning is hot coffee with cream and sugar, house and skin still cool from the night air, the sound of birds singing, the brightest summer light filtered to a soothing glow through white curtains, and the possibility of new beginnings.

Morning

Some days are bad, and some nights. And then you stretch, reach out a little. And someone precious to you reaches back, offers you a hug--long distance, impossible. And though you'd like the real hug, just the offer, so genuine, is enough to move you along for now. You dissolve a little, melting the fear. You sleep.

And in the morning, there's quiet on that long distance line. But the quiet isn't silence. It's just the quiet of two friends, lying in the grass together, holding hands maybe. Long distance, impossible. And yet, still somehow, together, staring up through leaves moving gently in a breeze, faces dappled by sunlight.

Today at HAMAMA

Today at Half-Assed Mama HQ (or one of the HQs, anyway--Amy's house...):

Beautiful new carriage doors were delivered, soon to be installed to create Amy's new studio space (and there was great rejoicing!). As soon as the moving blankets were down on the ground, Annie Dog felt compelled to settle in to take the air and watch the passersby out on the sidewalk. She brought her bone with her. Because, like Lis, she doesn't really knit much.

Indoors, the half-assed attempted to work, and the slightly sick toddler slept in his cozy chair. Tigger Dog watched over him.

It's pretty nice to have a friend nearby when you're under the weather.

•rabbit, rabbit•

It is a rare month when those are the first words out of my mouth. I managed it at 4:59 this morning, though. Superstition looks good on February. Tiny rituals for a short month. Civic religion, washed down with hearts--a Necco wafer communion.

I rapped on wood yesterday, when I said I wasn't pregnant. Somewhere inside, was I crossing my fingers? Be Mine... xox