The last few hours of winter. My black tea’s getting cold but I feel so content, so happy. It’s a day off, but I was happy yesterday also on my biggest workday of the week. Work was even enjoyable, that’s a really good place to be.
I walked around the neighborhood today under the dark cloud cover. Tired, but delighted by the bluish glow in the air everywhere, by the clean smell after months of heavy rain, by the kitty that runs up to be pet by each and every passerby, nearly every day.
I find myself inside last winter’s moments. Effort interminable. I wrote but found myself trying to explain things. To begin and to end. To write from scenario to scenario, event to event. Open idea, close idea. A sense of completion.
Maybe it didn’t work out because that’s not the way I’m really thinking. Not the way I’m seeing or experiencing life either. I’ve always preferred pictures, deep inside, to story. I’m seeing moment to moment. Seeing snapshots. Seeing feelings.
“Knowing you, we’re going to start in the middle,” I was once told. Yes. It’s too hard otherwise, too much struggle. I like John Cage’s approach. Just “begin anywhere.” Anywhere is perfect. Nothing to explain, no reason that needs to be given.
I can’t say where I started. I can’t say where I’m going. I’m just here.