Again, it says.
Too much. Again.
Did I do that? Or was it done?
I’m not practiced in talking about it. Sometimes, my body rebels. Or breaks down. Or screams. Sometimes, it flares into stinging and aches, walking oddly and thinking foggy.
So the seeds sit unsown. The plans lapse unknown. And I try and practice sharing that I’m human, and no, I won’t be eating that, running there, wearing those, or brimming with the patience and clarity we are both accustomed to.
Instead, here’s me.
That’s hard, for me, to be.
It’s odd. Interesting. Intriguing. Why can’t we, culturally, meet to chat and see, without coffee, booze, or tea?
Work is currently chats and catch ups and introductions. Fascinating. And caffeinating.
Sunflower underleaf nests for this beneficial…or pest?
It’s been ages since he’s been. Five years, perhaps? Half his life.
He saw my grubby shoes go by the door.
I put on sunscreen.
I grabbed my keys.
I picked up the leash.
Loaded in the car, he quieted. Tongue lolling. Bracing corners. Toppling.
Just before the driveway to the parking lot.
I know, buddy, me, too.
Any guesses on this volunteer?