"Change, when it comes, cracks everything open."
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Right now, there is a full moon outside my window. The cloud and storms from today have pretty much blown away, and what is left is clean air and a bit of chill in the wind. It's a dark blue sky, and a silver moon. There is a smell of summer in the air, to remind us all it's coming.
The dog is sleeping on my bed. He sighs and his feet begin to twitch as he starts to dream. He's had a hard week. It's been a week since Morphie died and I think he misses him. I miss seeing them together, back to back, sleeping and making their small, animal content noises. I just petted him, and he cracked his eye and grinned his wolfy grin at me.
I am looking at my hands as I type. They look smaller to me, more like a lady's hands. Sure, I have my rough spots and calluses. My nails are broken and short. But the fingers are a bit thinner and the knuckles more prominent. More like lady's hands. It almost makes me want to get nails and make them pretty. Almost.
I can smell a smell in the air. I don't think it's real. It reminds me of the smell when I am cooking Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner. That combined smell of gravy and turkey roasting. The smell of baking and good food. I don't know why I smell it. It's in my head, and it makes my heart warm, but I know it's not real. I'm not questioning it too much, just enjoying the feeling it gives me. I am thinking of home and family and warmth and food and comfort and love.
That's alot from an imaginary smell.
Right now on my bedside table, there is a Sawyer-made craft. Her red handprint is the flower and there is a poem. I look at it every morning, along with the picture of me and Sebastian together. Then I close my eyes and say thank you, for one more day. Thank you for every possibility under the sun. Thank you for everything I have and everything I need. Then I get up and start my day.
Right now, my feet are a bit cold, and I am thinking about warm baths. Of bubbles and sugar scrubs and reading in the thick, misty air.