One more week before The Monkey starts Kindergarten.
One more week of slow, lazy days sauntering back and forth
between the house and the studio.
I'll return to work for regular hours once he's back in school.
Outside, the heat is unrelenting.
As scorching as the tears that sting when I think of backpacks and bagged lunches.
Preschool somehow seems very far away.
Transitions here continue.
Despite the changes, I feel overall lighter.
Something mellow and malleable.
Maybe it's the melting affect of a building fire.
I'll give my all to what I have and, if what I have should still burn,
then give this girl kerosene.
No water for the fighting weary.
I cannot change him.
I will not try.
Summers in the south are heavy anyway.
Storms roll in on the back of a sunlit sky and I know well
sudden shifts in the weather.
Violent storms don't surprise me anymore.
The garden flowers are crisp and toasted bread brown.
It's pointless to water what is dry beyond quenching.
Instead I look for beauty in the barrenness.
And feed the birds.
It's too hot for boots or blowdryers.
Bubbles blown indoors keep The Monkey busy
and I let my unruly hair curl onto itself,
mirroring the blessed mess that is my season.
I choose to embrace what comes.
I speak honestly on this blog as I've always felt that
if I'm going through something, others are too.
He doesn't read what I write
and I don't write what I don't openly say.
I've gained an incredible son.
In that, I would change nothing.
My family amazes me.
My job is barely work.
Incredible friends surround me at home and afar
and I am the lucky one.
I can love and I do and I will.
And yes, love, I can also let go.
I am okay.
No season lasts forever.