Sometimes it’s Wednesday dressed up as a Friday.

Sometimes it rains just after laundry is hung on the line.

Sometimes onions plant themselves and lonely socks sneak off into corners.

Sometimes we stay up too late dreaming and wake up too early thinking.

Sometimes we read side by side.

Sometimes we dance in a kitchen or a mud puddle or a room lined with mirrors.

Sometimes I don’t even recognize your reflection in the crowd of movement.

Sometimes I want you to read stories and sing songs to me.

Sometimes I want to run away to the sea with green foamy waves.

Sometimes I want you to come along.

Philadelphia on a Saturday afternoon.

Leaving a friend after a lovely morning of coffee + talk + meandering.

South Street, a sudden motorcycle rally.

Who knows why.

I lean into the street to take a phone pic of the line-up.

And someone asks if I want to ride.

Do I want to ride?

Where are they going?

When will they stop?

Why are they meeting?

But instead of asking any question at all, I say yes.

Yes.

I never have before, but yes.

I want to ride.

And then we’re off.

And in just a few minutes of breeze and sunshine with a stranger, I have gone from 19th street to 4th.

The light turns red.

I pat the motorcyclist’s back and say “have a nice ride, thanks.”

And just like that, instead of all the reasons I could have said no,

I said yes.

But honestly, our bus doesn’t seem quite as groovy anymore.

I’ve returned from the city of Brotherly Love. Like a tourist, I took this cheesy shot with my phone as I passed through Love Plaza. After a week of soaking in the company of my sisters and friends, walking the city for hours, time lost in old haunts and, as always, making new discoveries.

I took a few pictures here and there, but did not make the time to post. Perhaps I’ll spend the week sorting through that.

Last night, all I wanted was re-entry vino, which was good.

This morning, I think I’ll continue with re-entry tea.

Finding balance, making peace.

In honor of Adrienne Rich, who died this past week.

It is not enough to say this, but your voice carries on.

I saw Wim Wender’s movie Pina this weekend. Twice actually. “Dance dance otherwise we are lost,” the movie is about choreographer Pina Bausch and her approach to dance.  It is such a beautiful and stirring movie; fittingly the first one Riana has seen in a theatre.  Definitely want to find it playing somewhere in 3-D now too.

This moment. With the regular shout-outs to Soulemama and Emily.

But this weather is a bit frightening.
Over a week of windows open every day, sunshines, temps in the 80′s. The 80′s.In Michigan.In March.Outdoors.

I wonder about the seasons, the climate, the bees, the trees, the buds, the blooms.

Our frost date is yet two months away.
Two months for potential havoc.
Two months for volatile loss.

And yet, the weather is lovely.
And my garden has a nice start.
Not only did I start seasonally appropriate seeds last week, but the beds are so easy to prepare-
barefoot
in the sun
actually hot.

So radishes, peas, lettuce, kale, carrots- we hope to see you soon.

Meanwhile, we forage wild greens to add to each meal, grateful for what we have.

She makes her list in the morning,
Much like her Mama.
She adds the things she
has to do
wants to do
hopes to do
But on her list,
These categories
Are practically one in the same

And then I wonder
How my day would be colored
If I too began my list
my desires
my duties
my day
With a homespun, kitchen run, just for fun, with the ones
I love
Dance
Party

I preach there are all kinds of truth, your truth and somebody else’s. But behind all of them there is only one truth and that is that there’s no truth.  — Flannery O’Connor, Wise Blood