If I’d taken five minutes or a few more.
I’d have within my reach, a planner, my journal, or whatever I might find.
I might, although odd, talk into my phone as a record for later.
For things that matter
To me, at least.
It’s half a day’s worth of hours later and it’s getting ready mode for next big day.
No time for walk.
Stretch, long and low and slow. Slow, unwind, let heavy stuff flow down to less heavy.
Downward dog, I notice, quite a whole lot like prayer.
I remember, face down towards carpet, my husband showering with his 80’s music cushioned by door.
Still, a serenade.
My cousin who is never, ever untrue, sent a message about my chapter “Your words had depth, the most of all. You must continue.”
The weight of this, still so even now
very much significant.
And a prayer, then a call.
I’m sorry to say it wasn’t ’til later I realized the connection,
Call, not text.
“Wanna hear something funny?”
“Yes, actually that would be good.”
And it was, good…the call and the funny thing.
Sweet, unexpectedly sweet.
Just before, momentarily by a prayer.
Then, clarity mid-shower, early this morning …
oddest and most true of places…
Yes, this I should do.
This, story I should tell.
This is how I should.
So, here I am again, over half a day since thoughts making sense and I’m sort of jealous over my obligations not allowing time to remember.
Wondering how writers write.
I’m touching up the bright coral on the nails of my toes, prepping for fancy, casual work thing tomorrow.
The Labrador watches and wonders, I believe…what’s all this other stuff that you do and why do you…?
Me too, “Colton Dixon, me too.”
And I decide, at least, at least…
I remember the best parts of day reminded by my downward pose and dog.
Soon, very soon, there will be time and there will be more days worthy of
Of keeping record of things finally making sense.