Ten.Twenty-Six

1. Basil for the water. Lemon. Warm.

2. The deer is back. She's closer than she's ever been before and while I long to go out and extend a hand, I also know that this is not where she belongs. I apologize for being in her space. This would have been her home had it not been for humans.

3. Which makes me think of the wide open places that have yet to be touched by our hands. And the way you feel when you stumble upon them: small and infinite.

4. The water is not so bad. 

5. I hear myself say over and over to the ones who knew me before, "I am having a harder time with this than I thought I would." It is honest but I wish it wasn't still so true.

6. Feta, dill, tomato, green onions, red onions, parsley, oregano, simple vinaigrette.

7. We sit on the sofa that I rarely sit on. I realize that I must sit on it more and gaze out the window toward the wind-swept trees and the tall grass bent over on the berm. This is a quiet corner. I need more quiet corners. 

8. Dinner is late. I am slow. My body wants to rest. I had forgotten how tiresome it is to tread water. 

9. This world. My heart aches. 

10. Thunder in the dark.