When I blink I can almost see the things I wish I had thought. I am most definitely small. Smaller than that, even.

You suggested we cuddle

Collide, curl, comfort, et cetera

And I stood beside the bed wondering... where is a pillow

For MY head

O so cold, my arm like lead

And I’m certain within minutes you’d be asleep

Anyway

Contentedness is rarely a two-way street

Especially when someone else can fall asleep so easily

So there weighed options and opted to opt out

Cold and knowing I’d be awake until I could find

Something warmer than an accusation

For making up difficulties

Because sleeplessness and pain

Make me right now real

When the green really means something other than course, means something like a forest or field or even houseplants, and NO I'm not talking about "green" as in a certain herb, nor am I talking about it as in a type of money, there I am. I am disjointed and snarling, unhappy and understanding the distance betwixt and be...tweet. Houses built on sludge. Rivers swallowed by "drought".

So many many long years ago people proclaimed Y2K! is the end of times and I only saw those as YKK on the zipper of my sweater...

Here it comes. So who are you in the midst of it? Can you answer for yourself, for your humanity? Is there some revelation or is it just apocrypha? Someone who don't never did once crossed eyed and sighed "Wellllll, there is the Rapture!" (And I added that exclamation point ... because I don't think it exists or should have to be included if the word to which it is defined or considered or included is "rapture".

Let us take a look at the word "rapture". No, I don't think half of you who think you might want to actually do want to dissect this particular rapini going-to-do linguistical conundrum and in many ways ....self-fulfilling.

If you wait for it, then I pity you.

Me, my own self, inclined for assessing the situation. I like to eat rapini, chard, kale, especially when it's mixed with bacon.

Okay, where have I not been? East of the Mississippi, not been there. No, wait there were two weeks when I was 14 and my Mum (she hated being called that but I was way too far-out Cali-lovin'-cool and thought the Brit punk scene would adore it and then it became a term of which there is no whicher, because surely no other nearsighted sneezly-sick humbly borgeek kid ever called anyone else in the whole region "Mum" and I still to this day don't think my Mum does not understand this is the proper address for The Queen of England) ...ummmm... almost went there in reality twice and once in a bad dream. zooooom!like a paper airplane and then so soft crash...and if it is a good paper airplane then you barely feel the touchdown.

When someone starts talking about dreams I feel my own ears tune out but also hear... sometimes it is good to know the way a whole head has to turn and then you feel it in the muscles of your temples. I can hear more when I breathe IN than when I breathe OUT.

My scary dreams of late include places I have seen. But I am the ultimate-construct of a paper airplane. Maybe even a boomerang. Breathe....

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got it. 

Pecos River end of November

Wild dream last night while the wind whistled over the tin roof, perhaps too much Ray Bradbury before bed but I dreamt I was a luminous shapeshifting creature in human form, a young woman of tired dignity, wearing green.

There was a dark pool of warm water and I swam elusive mutual circles with a man, whose face I could not see. And then there were adversaries I had to physically fight, and when taunted I was haughty and frightening with a thunderous voice told one jealous smirking dark-haired girl whose face I saw but it is no one I recognize

"I have kissed his skin with the sweat of stars!"

And when asked why not fight in my true form, which I disclosed was the size of an 18th Century two-story brick schoolhouse but too radiant for a human to comprehend, I said I could only appear and love or battle to my opponents' abilities.

I then walked eleven miles and the battle was more like a street rumble with adolescents who wanted me to disclose the location of a turquoise mine.

I won and wept for being so alone and then awoke because the cat whispered in my ear.

I have some awesome dreams.

Busy day today-- homeschool, trip to the dump & post-office, wood to buck, big chunks of beef to cook... it's nice to have a portable computer (I guess this thing is called a laptop, although it rests on the table).

Dawn was slow coming and the world was white with frost. It takes the sun a long time to climb over the steep canyon wall but when it does the temperature rises 40 degrees in about half an hour.

Time for a riverside walk.

New Journey

Here I can go again, vaulting into the unknown and whistling a little tune as I go that sounds very much like the rhythm line in the Dr Who theme song.

We've lived in some beautiful places-- Oregon, California, New Mexico, and now we're headed to Washington and when I say we I mean the three of us, my husband and son and yours truly, and when I say Washington I mean the Pacific Northwest state.

Living in Oregon and making our home there feels like a waking dream sometimes, bits and pieces I loved about myself that feel lost forever like raindrops in a river. And then Mariposa, in California, where probably we could have lived if it hadn't been California. Then Santa Fe, NM, a truly unique city, and I am thankful for the opportunities it has provided. But this little cabin on the Pecos River has been my favorite home so far.

I lost myself for a while. It was painful, and not just for me. My philosophy hasn't changed but I feel more able to apply it to me now. So much time and effort and work to discover it's okay to change. Those two sentences sound like a paradox. Nostalgia is a sickness. Can't step into the same river twice. I felt for a few years like I were drowning, and in a way I did. Re-discovering me has been very good.

The walks along the river with my boy and the dogs and the cat, those I do treasure. It's the big Pecos Wilderness wild woods yet feels so comforting, wind sighing in the trees, the water sliding and tumbling over the rocks, all the clean air high mountain smells of fresh water, pines, riparian woodlands. We have names for the spots along the river, The Drop-off, The Point, The Oaks. Our path connects them through the alders, wild roses, willows, oaks, maples, cottonwoods, firs & pines. D's Tree is at the Drop-off. I think we identified it as a hop-hornbeam. He likes to climb up into the branches, which form a tight cradle around him. It's too small for me to climb.

We'll be leaving this wonderful place soon, and I am both treasuring the things I love and also distancing myself from it, which is not always the easiest compromise of emotions. Our future adventures will take us to other rivers-- not just any river, but the Columbia River-- and I am looking forward to being close to the Pacific Ocean again.  I will miss this mountain home, but I don't want to miss this opportunity to move back to the Pacific NW. It... feels like we're going home.