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2022-11-08 - 2:29 a.m.
eclipse
it is far too warm for mid-november. outside, the crickets are chirping and a low breeze blows through the fallen leaves. the moon is bright enough to douse the blinky light-up landfill fodder that fills the yard next dore. it is bright enough to read out of doors past midnight. as the moon rises, it pours silver through the trees and into the windows and seeps across my daughter's sleeping face. wakened by the light, i bring my daughter outside to play. she clambers onto the swing, laughs and dances and runs, eventually crawling into my arms and drowsing softly on my shoulder. now she is back asleep in bed, and i am awake by myself.
* * *
one mourns the frost. one mourns the world as it was, when my uncle cared to plant by the moon and by the signs and did not have right-wing radio or quite so many guns. * * *
reading:
listening to: low - long division. vale mimi parker.
working on: a quilt i set aside after my second miscarriage. for a while, everything was poisoned by that awful time. there is music i cannot listen to, books i cannot read, foods i cannot eat, smells that leave me nauseated. clothes i had to throw away. but nothing about this quilt is quite so painful to me now.
in the garden: rain's coming.
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