From the poem “September 2001, New York City” by Sharon Olds:
“I don’t think I could ever write about it. Maybe in a year I could write something. There is something in me maybe someday to be written; now it is folded, and folded, and folded, like a note in school.”
Love,
Michelle xoxo
P.S. Next week, I will probably speak of the healing power of nature, or describe the curled leaves as they were pushed so quickly across the surface of a pond by a light breeze, just like little sailboats. Or the moment yesterday when a mink and I surprised the heck out of each other and I laughed out loud in spite of my heavy heart. This week, I’m hunkering down and licking my wounds. Much love to you all. xoxo
Peace to you, my friend. Are you off to NZ soon, as well? Somehow I like the thought of you and Chris watching all of this from a beach, there. And leaving Ohio behind. Leaving this brokenness behind. That thought actually brings me peace 😊