peekaboo selfie in the old mirror behind the couch.
a bit of light, the cat nestled near, a book, a coke,
the door open to darkness.
Spring has come early, in bits and pieces. The flowering trees bloomed against the still bare limbs of the hackberry tree, the catawba, the pecan. Azaleas were quickly pink across the street, Katie's bridal veil blossoms white against the edge of the creek in the back yard. I sat down next to a fat bunch of paperwhites the other week and childhood memories, from out of nowhere, surprised me, sat down next to me, pushed against me, took up room I wasn't expecting to give.
This is where she hid the Easter eggs, I remembered, all of a sudden back in those days when the Easter Bunny still visited. It wouldn't have been those paperwhites or this neighborhood, but I knew. I knew. I saw the pale yellow of the old house, a house my youngest brother doesn't remember, the bright daylight, the white trim on the windows. The shade of trees, the small front porch. I was there once again.
things come back around. they never leave you. people go, your favorite pets go, you move, you grow older, and if you're lucky, you grow old, and if you're lucky lucky, you keep your memories. i'd sat down like a child, legs folded, eye to eye with the coming spring, and there it was, a piece of my childhood. was it the fading afternoon light that called it, the sound of birds? the feel of the changing season? or was it just me, sitting, communing with the flowers?
I have been long gone from this place. I thought I'd locked the door, but like most places, if you want in bad enough, you'll figure a way. Break a window, find the key you thought was lost. Kick, hit, pound. It will require a wanting. Sometimes it just requires the truth. Yesterday, when someone asked, I told her that truth. Sometimes I stay silent instead of answering, standing outside the closed door, the found key in my hand, scared to open all the old rooms. Too tired to start over, to sweep away the cobwebs. But she asked and I told her, and I felt the door swing open on a small breeze. It wasn't locked after all.
And here I stand. Once again. Maybe I am back.
this morning there are dangles of wisteria outside my door. the redbud trees are full and the sky is solid blue. the trees have new leaves and the paperwhites have begun to wither. there is a small wind and the day begins warm. spring will be quick, and then gone. baseball is just around the corner. i have the tv on, sound off, as usual, and i am missing katie. the house is a bigger mess, the kitchen painted and repainted, the perfect color just out of my reach. i may re-tile the floor black and go back to white walls. i am unsure. in the meantime, the walls are mostly painted. i admit, however, that i am quite enchanted with the last white corner behind the refrigerator, and am giving serious thought to letting it stay; the white against the pale blue feels like the sky. it feels like infinity.
A beautiful return!ReplyDelete
She who asked
thank you for the question. xoxoxDelete
So glad to see an entry from you, FINALLY. i look so forward to your entries. Hope you write in it more. A talent like yours should not be silent <3ReplyDelete
I echo Kelly Petersen, word for word. But I understand. I have been an avid journaler for over 25 years. Lately, not so much. I need to - it makes my life so much better - but right now the desire and the words just aren't there. Hope yours are coming back.ReplyDelete