more life

I'm trying to write for work and I am having some trouble. I wish all of the mosquitoes that have been chewing on my ankles and ass would bite me with a poison called "write till you can't think power powder". However, I doubt this magical serum exists...

I've been feeling pretty empty--not a good kind of empty--but a heavy emptiness. I just cannot make sense of so much that happens around me. Furthermore, I cannot make sense of this desire I have stirring in me to have a kid. I needed convincing to adventure in to this whole thing and now I am quite present in the complicated mess of conception and simultaneously really annoyed at this tickle that keeps telling me that I am supposed to be a mother (or father/a parent).

For those of you who do not know it, I am really good with children. They like me for some reason. K says it is my hair and also cause I pay attention to them; I think these are good explanations.

The other day I was working the perennial garden here at k's dad's place and the little girl next door was just really excited to learn about plants. I fed her some mint and oregano and she just kept saying, "wow, that's so tool. It's so tool that you can eat these green things."

Her little, "that's so tool" made me laugh and well up with tears all at once. And then when I explained the word dry to her, I could barely stop myself from weeping. I picked some lavender and told her that she could dry it and keep it for a long time and still smell the lovely smell and she said, "I don't know what dry means." And then I explained it to her using a fresh piece of grass and a sun-burnt piece of grass and she really understood it and she ran home to show her mom the lavender and I smiled heavy with longing for something more than this daily rising and working and eating and shitting and creating and sleeping and rising and...

Always when I am up here in this beautiful part of Michigan, my heart gets a bit more vulnerable. There is so much life abounding in the woods and in the lakes. Living things unfurl in wild abandon and I am privy enough to stumble upon their aliveness.

Yesterday, I saw shimmery, pink trillium and yellow ladies' slippers as I rode my bike down the lonely roads. The birch trees yielded a pristine whiteness against the overcast, fog laden sky and Lake Michigan was surrounded by thick air--heavy with humidity and sagging softly to touch the great lake.

lake michigan in fog

a lonely, lovely road


This beauty reminds me of the solitude that I love and the yearning still for more life in my own world. Maybe I just need my garden and the woods to retreat to, but then plants do not ask questions. Nor do they exclaim wonder at their surroundings. So, a child--is that the life I really need?