Sometimes it’s the only thing that helps me know I’m here.
The blue, the radiance of it.
Sometimes I head out into the day, murky and swishing,
grabbing at something to root me down.
It’s a constant surprise to get roots from above, to get
pushed deep in instead of pulled straight up.
:::
I wasn’t really an outdoors kind of kid.
I watched a lot of bad television; I’d sit inside, lying on
the couch, as the bugs buzzed and swirred into the screens.
I had no idea.
And then one time, I walked across Europe for a few
months. This college escapade was the
least likely choice for a couch-dweller like me.
But something told me to go, to see, to let my skin feel the
blue.
And of course nothing was ever the same again.
Because sometimes things need to change.
:::
The other morning I dragged my laptop through my studio window,
set it down on the kids’ red table in the yard.
Mid-workout I stopped and sniffed the air.
I looked up.
I looked up and breathed deep and realized that the magic
isn’t in Europe, isn’t in my early twenties, isn’t anywhere but right here.
Out in the air, deep under the blue.
Love this!
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