How do you feel?It was fun driving through the twilight last night, up, up, higher into the mountains to be spit out at the top, walking back through the woods, climbing over the gate and trespassing through the remnants of a fire pit to get to the edge of the world to watch the sun melt into purples and reds, bleeding into the clouds, leaving stars as a marker for morning.
That is the question
But I forget you don't expect an easy answer
When something like a soul becomes
Initialized and folded up like paper dolls and little notes
You can't expect a bit of hope
So while you're outside looking in
Describing what you see
Remember what you're staring at is me
Night came blissfully slowly and then it was gone before being appreciated, ripped away with terrors and dreams, reassurance and unexplainable fears. I walked a steady path around the house it seemed, maybe this is how a new phase begins, always with trying to shoehorn ourselves into a routine that seems to be the wrong size and color at first and then we get used to it, rolling up the sleeves and maybe pinning it, deciding we are okay with lavender or cream yellow or deepest ocean green. We make do and then eventually we can't have imagined it any other way.
Today is Ruth's eleventh birthday, which means she begins her twelfth year right now.
I'm not sure again how time passed me on the inside when I was slowing down to admire that sunset but it happened and I would like them to give me a restart because I'm pretty sure time has jumped the gun and there will be no cheating in this race.
This is the first no-toy birthday and it feels weird. She has chosen some pretty dresses that I went back for later, some clothes for school as well, art supplies. Endless art supplies. She has taken to disappearing with her drawings and headphones and she will lose hours and hours drawing the most intricate pictures from somewhere deep inside her mind while she listens to music and I am floored daily by how similar she is to Bridget of twelve and how she is nothing like me, so different, so unique sometimes that I have this urge to introduce myself again.
She is mine and not mine at all. She is independent, for eleven. No one gets away with anything and yet she has a tenderness about her that she guards jealousy.
She makes me proud.
She is like a sunset that never ends, impressing us with her beauty and her colors and her staggering depth. We are grateful witnesses to, and participants in her life.
Happy birthday, beautiful girl.