I don’t know, I feel like yesterday’s post went rather well. It wasn’t happy, but it was cathartic, a little bit. This New York Times list of five hundred prompts for blog posts has been working for me. It feels like a decent vein to keep tapping so back we go…
What small things have you seen and taken note of today?
I noticed that even though I make some deeply stupid choices about sleep (and other things, let’s be honest), I was able to rise and not…well, definitely not shine, but eggshell at the world today. I had to get up and drive myself to work like millions of other American adults do everyday and I did not die. I did notice, because it is easier when I am a more deep and true version of alone, to feel the presence of the Faithful Light. The calm, steady drive to a better existence than the one we knew the day before. I get torqued up when she presents herself because it is of a necessity that the other voices have to pipe down. I have to be calmer and steadier to enjoy the benefits of that presence. To gather up all that sage advice. I noticed her forcing her way in and me doing my best to clear the way when panic (due only and entirely to not having driven in a while, because I know the road I take like it was carved into my palm) ratcheted upwards.
I noticed the sky coming up over the ridge. It is a little road, probably only at all remarkable because of a tragedy that happened nearby that made national news. Otherwise it is a ridge next to a hill next to a valley and I think the speed limit is high for the road, but you bound up over the ridge and you see the sky and the clouds that hang low and threaten with apocalyptic grace, are this very particular, striking hue of purplish-grey. To call it mauve would be to discount the moon’s glow backlighting each of those clouds so they stood out like seafaring vessels on some alien world, and the paler, grayer sky above and beyond. It was extraordinarily beautiful.
I have opinions about my writing and my writing ideas. I don’t just absorb opinions. I can process and evaluate the opinions of others without feeling beholden because they come from someone older. I am stuck in with these people, my characters, I know them viscerally. I experience their lives in tandem with my own. I don’t just lie down and put out my hands in supplication. I wish I could be this way with other things.
Of course, the last bit of noticing was for fall. The chill is here, there is no turning back, we have crossed the invisible line. It is scarves and boots and massive red coats which aren’t as massive as they ought to be any more. And we will either live through it or we won’t.