Last Monday evening in Virginia, the view of the sunset from my Father's backyard was spectacular: streaks of pink raced across the sky, broken up by the blue sky of a cold winter's day. Then on Tuesday morning I joined the masses on I-95, driving south to warming weather - today was in the 60s and tomorrow should top 70. The warmth is nice.
The holiday was a challenging one. Things I won't go into here; troubling family issues. They mostly make me sad. Returning to my little Airstream life seemed quite sane and manageable - as it is. I applied for a job yesterday that I'm actually interested in, and that is actually interested in a more senior scientist. That was optimistic.
I spent some of the day today putting together a mental 'wishlist' from Plant Delights Nursery and Select Seeds - only a mental list, mind you. I picked up a scattering of small branches spread around the garden - looked to see how damaged the camellia buds are from the unusually cold December we've had. I purchased a wedding gift (for a New Year's Day wedding that I am attending). I laughed at the Pointer Sisters - running around like crazy things, digging their new sweaters (yes, for the first time in my life I have purchased clothing for dogs). I examined the broccoli up-close - I'm not sure that it will do much. December was just too cold.
Yes, it's time to burn the old year - it's gone, up in flames, it's crackling. I shouldn't be glad perhaps, but I am.
Letters swallow themselves in seconds.
Notes friends tied to the doorknob,
transparent scarlet paper,
sizzle like moth wings,
marry the air.
So much of any year is flammable,
lists of vegetables, partial poems.
Orange swirling flame of days,
so little is a stone.
Where there was something and suddenly isn’t,
an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.
I begin again with the smallest numbers.
Quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,
only the things I didn’t do
crackle after the blazing dies.