and half of learning to play is learning what not to playand she's learning the spaces she leaves have their own things to say
and she's trying to sing just enough so that the air around her moves
and make music like mercy that gives what it is and has nothing to prove
she crawls out on a limb and begins to build her home
and it's enough just to look around and to know that she's not alone
Last night the wind rattled my window mercilessly. I fought for sleep even as it whistled through the cracks and into my mind. When I was a child in this little town, the wind would uproot trees in the night. We'd wake to a terrorized landscape of tangled roots and strewn garbage. If I could take a picture of my thoughts, they would surely look the same today.
But I'm not a little girl anymore. I know that the wind creates space for new growth. The gusts that are the fiercest, the ones that are the hardest to withstand, are the ones that take the old with them when they go leaving only new ground.
What will I plant when this windstorm dies down?