Sunday, June 1, 2025, 50.5* 0707 Overcast
High surf warnings. I placed the recorder on the least wet railing, a place not puddling nature’s brew, a place to capture the morning greeting of five defined voices. If the birds could be seen, the camera could not cross the expanse of leaves Mariah plays with.
If rain cannot do the cleaning, wash the pollen from the umbrella I opened last night, I have a brush. Mesmerized by the peeper chorus I would’ve remained standing for some time undetermined in the rain, but the three noses pressed to the glass willed me to come inside. I wanted to remain in the moment outside of responsibility.
I aspire to other things. A couple of months remain before I’ve been here a year. Yesterday I returned to the guest room, to unpacking, to getting settled. Moving boxes, I could see the dresser was missing 2 knobs. Again, the anger at the movers, the broken things, the lost things, the bad decision made to hire them--it all returned. I aspire to live beyond the broken things, the lost things. I want to say “I can fix this. It still works. These are just things.” I want to do what needs to be done without fussing without clinging to what used to be.
New beginnings still contain the broken,
the missing pieces that arrive with grief.
Art: LJ Austin
