Confetti

I have nothing to offer. Sometimes, there are bright flashes, vivid ideas that dance in my mind, but when I go to commit them to paper, to the screen, I think what's the point? Musings, like ticker tape, that fall flat. Litter the world. Magic, for a second, then debris.

I'm really not feeling pessimistic. I'm just busy fueling. Tentatively dipping toes into the water, accepting its temperature, trying not to feel the urge to make things different. Reserving judgment with a willingness to experiment, experience. I've been enjoying the activities that I have chosen in the past week--immersing myself in them, feeling the weight of the tide knock against me. I stand firm, grounded, yet loose enough that I can bob with the current. One night, I try new dishes at dinner; the next day, I feed the children chicken nuggets and I fast. I attempt to meditate and finally snap a photograph of the swirl of confetti that dances through my mind; I can appreciate the colors without allowing them to rain on me. I take a different route downtown, and I notice the stone carvings that line the tops of many of the buildings, the reflections in tall plate glass windows, the smells of pretzels and gasolines, curry and exhaust. I feel James' warm, damp hand pressed against my own; everything else falls away.

There was a storm last night, and there are branches on the ground, leaves in the gutters. Plastic garbage bags like tumbleweeds rolling down the sidewalk. Petals knocked off of Gerbera Daisies and blown across our concrete patio.

More confetti, only this time, not in my mind.