Ten.Two Hundred & Sixty-One

1. White-yellow light of early morning. I can see blue sky and the bern with its bent over grasses the color of blanched almonds. 

2. I declare this to be a slow day. 

3. I bake potatoes, caramelize onions and bell peppers, drink a tall glass of orange juice. They are quiet this morning. There are no complaints. 

4. I move through the laundry faster than usual even with breaks for water and tea. I vacuum the loft and my bedroom and the house feels like it is glowing. 

5. I tell myself that I should go for a walk but I am bothered by cramps and decide to put on real clothes and sit on the front porch to read. The air is till cool and if I'm not positioned just right, a breeze creeps up the sleeves of my shirt. But when the air is still I feel the sun warm my belly. There is the sound of their language in my ears, fighting with the words I'm trying to absorb. 

6. As I read I circle the numbers: $1200, $1400, $500. 100 years ago these were the prices of bodies — black bodies. I think of my ancestors, what they must have been subjected to at slave auctions in Richmond and Charleston, in the Caribbean and elsewhere. I think about the terror. I think about how much imagination and faith has to carry you through to survive. 

7. "What is it rising to? Once we know our lives matter, what are we going to do with them?"

8. Domaine Sigalas, 75% Assyrtiko and 25% Athiri from Santorini. Dalamara Paliokalias, 100% Xinomavro from Naoussa. The two, white and red respectively, a perfect pairing with our chicken with black olives, capers, and lemon with orzo dressed in the pan sauce. 

9. Simplicity. 

10. We yell at the little one to stop talking but then realize that what we're hearing are two owls in conversation. And we're no longer annoyed but amused. I feel blessed. So much sacred owl medicine these last few weeks.

Ten.Two Hundred & Sixty

1. A thin sheet of ice over everything. Unexpected shimmer.

2. I pull enough flour together to make scones. Sift the dry ingredients. Mix in the cold, shredded butter. Pour in the heavy cream. Mix. With flour hands I shape it into a circle about 1/2-inch thick. I always tell myself thatthis takes too long. But now I know the recipe almost by heart and it takes no time at all. 

3. Hot coffee. Sipped slowly. Daydreams of color stories: pinks and blues and golds and grays. 

4. Where do I add life?

5. The dad-coach is extra friendly today. Over the top with smiles and laughs. Maybe he thinks they will beat us. Maybe he remembers just how poorly he behaved last time and is embarrassed.

6. We win. "Is it bad that I feel vindicated by beating him again?" "No. I'm happy too. I'm also petty like that."

7. Home for a few hours to eat BLTs and drink sparkling water in the sun. A short time cuddling in the bed with the boys and watching basketball. I think of how I don't know what to do next. About how strange it is to feel so certain that you've settled on a decision only to feel like it wasn't the right one. 

8. But sometimes the good thing about decisions made in secret is that no one knows if you've changed your mind. This gives you freedom to correct your own course as needed without unwanted opinion. 

9. They win their last game. It might have been the best game they've ever played. He ends the game with a 3-pointer. More than anything, I love watching him practice and play because you can tell he's passionate about it. 

10. Suddenly it is night and I am sleepy and I decide to not finish the last 30 minutes of the movie in favor of a long shower and getting the fresh sheets on the bed. 

Ten.Two Hundred & Fifty-Nine

1. I do not hear the owls this morning. Only the hum of vehicles.

2. I lost the time to sit and write my pages and am instead trying to make a meal plan and a grocery list for the upcoming week. This takes me longer than I would like it to.

3. And there is the sun. It makes me think of seeds and soil, of purples and pinks and greens. I'm ready for green. I ready for newness. No. Not newness. Renewal. 

4. I can only laugh at slowly it moves. And how, because of its slowness, I can not try to make it do another thing while I wait, otherwise it makes it even slower. And so the lesson becomes not only one of patience but of focus. I can process only one thing at a time. 

5. The relief felt after hitting send. 

6. The questions that arise after the feeling of relief. 

7. Things I do when I don't know what to do: light candles, clean off the bathroom sink, scroll through Pinterest, make tea, watch bad horror movies. 

8. These two geese won't leave. They move back and forth between the pond and the median. I wonder if there is a nest somewhere near by.

9. I feel like chocolate cake. I buy the sugar and the powdered sugar. I know there is butter at home. And just enough flour. 

10. Burgers and fries. I eat my patty between two large leaves of butter lettuce. Pickle juice and ketchup and dijon mustard drip from my chin. Eating burgers never does look glamorous. But they are satisfying. I hadn't realized the depth of my hunger until then.

Ten.Two Hundred & Fifty-Eight

1. I cannot find the sliver of moon. Right now there is just the right amount cloud clover in the early morning sky to conceal it. 

2. But here the first layer of orange. It will be a sunny day.

3. I lay out my plans for the day in my morning pages. This is a part of my process. I write out all the things I wish to get done and then let it all go. Most of things will be checked off. Some won't. 

4. It feels a little freeing to let this go. I can see how it will clear my own head space. I don't think I will be bored. Well, maybe I will be bored but in that boredom, new ways of being creative will seed themselves. 

5. When I return, I grab a cup of coffee and "19 Varieties of Gazelles" and head upstairs to make the bed. I've timed it all out in my head: 15 minutes to finish the last handful of poems and then 10 minutes of meditation before I get started on my cleaning. 

6. Thin strips of yellow light fall across the floor in her room. I'd stay here all day if I could, sunk into the down comforter, reading in the sunlight. Will they know such simple pleasures?

7. I remember that today is not too late to turn in all around. 

8. What's left? Leaves of Romaine. Croutons. Ceasar Dressing. Half a box of organic spaghetti. A container of thawed spaghetti sauce. Bread flour, smoked sea salt, yeast, water. A complete meal. I wonder how much time we spend thinking that there's something else that must first be obtained before there is a feeling of completeness.

9. The sun is still up when I get into the shower. And when I get out. This makes me almost ridiculously joyful.

10. I read his words and think that we too must be kin somehow. I think about how these words are the things I've been thinking about myself for so many years. How do I reclaim a bit of land? How do I teach myself and my children how to grow their own food so as to be able to feed and care for themselves? How do we combat the politics of healthy eating? Who has access to "good" food and who doesn't — and why? 

Ten.Two Hundred & Fifty-Seven

1. The owls are somewhere off in the distance. One or two. I can't quite tell. I enjoy their presence. They always bring good messages. 

2. I am trying to keep distance. And by that, I mean making sure to separate feeling from fact, what's heard versus what's actually said.

3. The coffee shop is pretty. Grays and blacks and golds and stained wood. Yellow-orange glow from Edison bulbs along the wall. Coffee beans stuffed into brown paper bags. 

4. Latte made with oat milk. It's creamy but a little bitter. We don't have much time together this morning but this hour sweetens the day. 

5. The three of us on the screen talking puppy-people training, art supplies, and travel arrangements. 

6. The sun today is a good and healing kind of sun. The kind of sun that temporarily washes away worry. On the floor, on this side of the bed, it feels a little more safe. 

7. I have a feeling that there are many things that need ending. 

8. Potato & leek soup. Baked chicken thighs. It's a simple enough meal. Filling. Even the 6 year-old eats the soup. But who wouldn't eat soup that has bacon crumbles.

9. Back at the computer but I know that I had to ride this spike of energy for as long as I can. They are so few and far between these days. 

10. Making space.