poeming on Zora Neale Hurston's 123rd birthday
in this wide,
You would think I would understand this by now, how every time after Remy goes back to school after a break, I have this almost-uneasy feeling of returning to myself, to my own routines and wondering what to do next.
Or I do understand this, which is why I can at least name it now, instead of wondering why I need to gather myself, every time.
So once again, I'll be gathering myself, deciding what will bloom next in my life.
Although truly, there's no stopping the buds that have already formed. Unless I stunt myself on purpose, which I do not want to do, they've formed already, with my daily practices. The blossoms can't help but bloom now.
I am embracing the process: buds, blossoms, compost. And the uneasy fallow period in between. Embracing it all. Embracing what is.
Happy Birthday Zora Neale Hurston: thank you for your example of blossoming in this fragile, beautiful world. May your memory be a blessing, always.