Misty Mawn

stretching

        

today this week has been one of those days when i take the scant amount of time i have to daydream and spend it planning my escape.  to somewhere schedule free, it doesn't even have to be far from here, to a large warm body of water preferably, just as long as there are no calenders to look at, no dates to think about, no projects due, and no papers to sign.    and somehow i know once i get there i will wonder what in the... i was thinking, and i will miss my family, i will feel guilty, i will worry, i will want to come back home and sleep in my own bed, and sip wine out of my own favorite glass, ah, wine.  no time for that even.  *  there is something nice about not having even time to think, i just forget what that is.  i had to run into town today, unexpectedly, i made use of the trip and made an extra stop at the book store, looking for a stock of inspiration.  i stood at the magazines, pulling one after another off the shelf, quickly flipping through, scanning... not finding anything, nothing, feeling heavy and empty at the same time, when one image hit me with such sadness, it was just an expression on a sculpted face, tears came to my eyes, maybe i am a little over emotional, but in that moment i stopped and felt reminded of the feeling of being alive, happy to be standing there, feeling stretched as thin as taffy, but happy, nonetheless to be able to bend and not break.   

there will be more days & weeks like this, i know.   thankfully i have a handful of some of the most supportive cheerleaders that keep me going (thank you)  and these tunes by Taken by Trees to keep me singing.  

* this all takes me back to one of my most favorite books as a child, "If I lived alone" about a girl who dreams of living alone, where it's not so noisy and crowded, where she can stay up all night, eat ice cream for breakfast and dinner, and never take a bath... but   (there it is)   if she lived alone, who would help mom with her sculptures, who would read to her, who would help dad with his garden, and who would kiss and hug her goodnight at bedtime? 

what to do

you could...
 Write about a radish, 
too many people write about the moon.
the night is black
the stars are small and high
the clock unwinds its ever-ticking tune
hills gleam dimly
distant nighthawks cry. 
a radish rises in the waiting sky. 
 by Karla Kuskin
or

 dream on a poem,

 while soaking up a few rays of afternoon sunlight?

 pretend you are a beautiful whirligig, 

twirling out in the open, waiting to burst open?

make someone's day by surprising them with a gift?

or put on your favorite necklace,
 and pretend you are an opera singer? 

that's what i would do... 
all of the above,
 who says you can't do it all?
~
busy keeping busy over here... 
always so much to do and so much more i want to do... 
thank you much for stopping by... be well, be happy... 

oh, and have you heard... of phosphorescent?
 music to my ears.

today

If ever there were a spring day so perfect,

so uplifted by a warm intermittent breeze

that it made you want to throw

open all the windows in the house

and unlatch the door to the canary's cage,

indeed, rip the little door from its jamb,

a day when the cool brick paths

and the garden bursting with peonies

seemed so etched in sunlight

that you felt like taking

a hammer to the glass paperweight

on the living room end table,

releasing the inhabitants

from their snow-covered cottage

so they could walk out,

holding hands and squinting

into this larger dome of blue and white,

well, today is just that kind of day.

Poem by Billy Collins