The neighbors have new dog, Small Dog Coop, and he and Small Dog Max circled one another very sniffingly.
I have been circling and sniffing even when there was no other dog there. I noticed myself.
I noticed myself,
and wow! was that powerful.
I am somehow spread across decades – and somehow not all of those decades are mine, some of those decades are Mother’s and my kids’ and even more removed and the Amazon is burning here and now and I cannot save it.
I can’t gather myself into one moment, let alone do anything effective in it.
No, correction. I have not gathered myself into one moment.
Probably I can.
And then probably I can do, just fine.
But there’s a gathering of pieces which are stuck out there.
So! I’ll gather!
I can identify at least two stories that are just fine without me, so I will try to let go of them. Old glass and new sound remind me of them, so it’s my job to notice that I’ve been reminded and to remember that I choose to let go of those stories.
How very strange to let go of stories.
But if stories come in on the aether looking for a voice to tell them, I must be able to release some to go on their way.
Go, Story, fly free on clean air. Go, Other Story, waft in gentle breezes.
I will remember you, but no longer entangle myself with you.
Go.