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?