Butterfly Wings

The temperatures have fallen quickly here, and layers are fine for the morning but not needed in the afternoon.

Stories of loss are fine in some moments but not always the truest expression of adaptation and emergence.

Budding wings are fine too.

Bundling up when the chill returns, in my gnarly worn blankets, turns this room into a cocoon.

I like to eat what I want and dance to the music of my own hearts moon.

The seasons are changing and there’s a vortex of memories like last Fall’s scent of dry leaves and the coffee roaster a few blocks over, burning, or roasting… it’s never been quite clear.

They remind me.

When it first rained last October the outdoor pillows were drenched and we rescued them to dry inside for a day or two…and then back outside where they remained in warmth and intermittent sunshine.

When he was able, Alan would check the weather report for predictions and eventually we’d just let the rain fall and have it’s way. 

Things that mattered didn’t matter so much anymore.

He was soft then and I remember laying my hand in his and thinking, remember this, remember this.

Now I have space, mostly to consider my steps and how they they have changed and will change.

I want to do this right.

A cocoon of grief is tangible, almost touchable but not always reachable.

It’s important work.

I wake to paintings in progress these days, and paper remnants from the night before, bits and pieces scattered. Brushes soaking in old plastic cups left over from a barbecue, maybe.

There is quiet for now and although reading is preferred, Netflix seems easier…and it makes noise, I hear voices.

Next week it will be a year since Alan passed, and a letter to him will be posted here.

I’ve been writing it in my head for awhile now.

And so we go with love for all of us,

marylou

“whisper” …

Everything can be traced back to nature.

Even those things that are “man- made” have their origins born from nature.

This is why the rhythms and patterns are important.

Pay attention to the rhythms and patterns of nature.

P.S. I posted this writing a few hours ago and it didn’t feel right. So now it’s edited and may be edited again. Don’t be afraid to change things if they don’t feel right, even after it seems too late. It’s never too late.

8 thoughts on “Butterfly Wings”

  1. You are spot on Marylou, you gave me a laugh this morning regarding the bowel movements! It’s all so true, love listening to your take on life.

  2. Yes winter is on the way. I am glad you are healing a little bit. The last 2 years of your life have been so challenging. I do want to know how you are doing.

    2 weeks ago a friend of 53 years sent me an email saying “sorry I can’t be your friend “. We were inseparable for 21/2 years of high school. After We were close off & on.. she is a nomad, so we lose track sometimes. But not for the last 4 years. I have been having a caving chest and crying as I am not sure what is going on. Grief is hard…. Marylou I look up to you
    And so it goes… love to all of us ♥️

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