I’m sitting beside my own stoked fires, ashes swept, coals banked with sighs. Holding a stick of incense now, to which I whisper your name, a sonic breath, a fan for flavoured flame. To brighten your inner glow, the poet in you, that you might release your oaky rune, or marvellously maple tune. Your words, they are new wine sometimes, sometimes with bludgeoning tannins, sometimes as nectar deep-divine. I blow the smoke for burnished honey; sometimes you’re the early tree-flower, sometimes I’m the winter bee.
17:51. Ugh. Transcribed from paper. On paper I have no flow. (So, editing is the way to go. ;))
Crazy winds last night. The wide and heavy wooden driveway gate, left open, blown clean off its hinges. I found it lain carefully squared beside its post today, ready for repair, must have been some conscientious passerby. It will require at least two people to re-install it. Or one very strong and determined person. If I were to leave it, that would be T when he comes home; he likes to do such work alone. The cherry trees are blooming, pink and white, and the daffodils are a froth of battered yellow on the western garden edge. There are a family of songbirds nesting in the eves, outside the stone wall of the attic bedroom. They make a beautiful chorus in the mornings.
We make a day trip to Vichy, the kids and I, near the end of our two-week school break. It’s a struggle to get them away from their screens, to get them to do chores, to not do all the chores myself just because it’s easier, to get them to come for walks, to get them to come for outings. But when we are in the van sometimes it’s lovely; we listen to EDM, the rain slaps down on the windshield and we see the trees in early bloom, as though flowering in co-dependant love songs.
The pool in Vichy is a big one, a beautiful one, we enter using electronic bracelets, through all-gender change rooms. I am surprised but happy. Much easier for families of all kinds. There is a kinship among all of us patrons, strangers but together, showering at the entrance to the pool in our bathing suits, our tattooed stories or lack thereof, our perfect non-perfection.
I feel happy to be in a crowd, enlivened, rejuvenated, moving from fountain to bubble pool to streaming waterway; the pool is designed in meandering concentric bassins, there is a camaraderie, a quiet relaxation in the mind, a shared energy. I feel fresh and free.
Again and again down the spiral slide, four boys glide, and chasing each other, not too wild. The lifeguards blow their whistles, make hand signs, waggle warning index fingers. Hidden gazes in bronzed faces, behind dark glasses, under the wide-and-white-sky dome.
At dinner, things are calmer than usual, we are slowdown tired, glad for having lived a little different in that day. I listen to the funny things the kids say. We’re all just a few blowing blooms away.
Nadine inhales & exhales words & images from current vantage point in Auvergne, France. Thank you for reading. ❤︎