Tuesday, February 07, 2012

 Hey there, spring. I saw you there, hiding pooled in the first opening flowers up in the tops of the earliest magnolia tree. You're not here yet, but I can feel your slow approach in the soles of my feet and the liquid fire in my veins and pooled in my lungs, in the electricity arcing across rooms and the frantic chatter of the birds. I'm still not letting you in my shopping car yet, spring, not quite back to touching with palms, but I'm open to being convinced otherwise. 

Maybe it's just that I'm only a velveteen rabbit of a girl, not quite sure where the line is between real and Real, but still pretty fixed in my shape. Maybe there's more world than there is me.

I went to see Dave Isay talk about the latest Storycorps projects. (I watch the Danny and Annie animation a lot more frequently than I'm willing to admit.) Their newest collection is about love, love lost and found and unearthed and given away, and in the room he played excerpts of the interviews and a room full of people listened with their heads bowed as though they were praying. There's something transcendent about being in a bright room full of people listening to stories about each shade of hope that bring everyone to every kind of tears. All of us just folks there together.

Later I sat in the bar with a friend, talking about family and loss and regret, and even later alone reading stories about people who have lost something essential and become something less and yet more cruel than shadows. Thoughtless people, but also lost ones. I walked through quiet streets heading home, the thunk of my heels the only real sound, feeling the heat that comes sometimes with the uneven beat of my heart. There is almost certainly more world than there is me.

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