Before any rumour of virus, there was bread, there was bread rising overnight on the Mexican tiles, bread baking, bread broken with soup, spread with butter and honey, fine cheese, there was bread before, there was bread, there is bread, a hollow sound when you tap the bottom of the loaf.
June mornings, the sound of bees, of hummingbirds, of ravens klooking in the deep woods, and bowls of roses to sit on the table, opening, opening, earwigs falling from their hearts.
You heard their voices. You heard a Clark’s nutcracker. A boat. When you stood up under the pines, you had pollen on your shoulders. You don’t brush it off, your heart in the needles, the warm smell of the sap.
You will swim out into the clouds tomorrow to welcome the new year. The islands are your destination but you won’t arrive.
10 thoughts on “fast away: zuihitsu for the end of the year”
lovely! all the best for 2021. healthy and peaceful!
And to you, too, Susan. Love and light.
Swim on, dear friend. Happy healthy creative joyful 2021 to you.
Thank you, Beth. And the same right back to you.
Maybe one fine June day I’ll swim downstream to meet you, and we will break bread together to the sound of bees and the smell of sap. In the meantime, I’ll be reading, grateful for you there writing. Happy new year to you and John!
Wouldn’t that be nice? May wonders happen to and for us all in 2021. Best to you both too.
All the very best to you, Theresa. Swimming to greet the new year, how wonderful. I’ll think of you.
Thanks, Carin. Best to you in this New Year we are hoping is less dramatic than the one we’re leaving behind…
yes, on all four counts. May you swim as far as you are intended. May you again break bread with others you love around a table, and may you each enjoy a year ahead filled with good healing, continued good health, and moment of joy so many that you will surely lose count!
Oh yes! To you too, Diane!