fast away: zuihitsu for the end of the year

pandemic bread

1.

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.

there were roses

2.

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.

pines at lac lejeune

3.

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.

sky swim

4.

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”

  1. 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!

  2. 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!

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