If you’re hurt, or lost
I want to hear about it,
and make it better.
I can bring band-aids,
and an atlas of the world.
Then I’ll just listen.
I told myself I wasn’t going to sit down to write today, or plan anything important. The banality of those two haiku are prime illustrations of my scrambled egg brain today. We’re going hiking in the withering heat; we’ve packed water bottles that have been shoved into the freezer and we’re going to try and find a big field or something. Some place with big big dragonflies. Some place with caves, turquoise water, and pink marble.
I’m usually barefoot at home (we don’t like wearing shoes inside, just a habit we got into when we lived in Alaska), and when I go to water our container garden I don’t put anything on my feet. This past week I’ve crunched up three dead cicadas with my bare feet. It didn’t feel so bad. These are the kinds of things I’m thinking about today, the things that I’m dwelling on, so really I have no business even on here.
Here is something pretty to drive out the image of my big, dirty foot squriching a crunchy, dead cicada: