little fires

In September summertime ends, floats away on little puffs of milkweed, and the mindless geese will fly over the trees so crowded with leaves that we cannot see the geese but only hear them in their chaos of communication; they come and go, come and go, dragging their invisible net over the land, gathering the last scraps of summer, scattering the first olive-green leaves among the returning finches until you cannot tell finch from leaf, leaf from finch.

A thing that f*#ked me up this week... I watched a documentary focused on recent Hubble telescope photos of many new galaxies both older and more complex than previous thought possible. It turns everything we thought to know about our universe and how it was created on its head. It made a very articulate argument that this points to the conclusion that our universe exists within a black hole... We exist in a bubble beyond the event horizon of a black hole within a larger universe.

We open each meeting by asking a simple question: What is keeping you alive today? This allows us to revel in the sometimes small motions that get us to the Next Thing. Yes, I did not want to get out of bed this morning, but there was one single long shard of sunlight that stumbled in through a tear in my curtains, and the warmth of it hitting my arm got me to that first hour of living. There was my dog, who, on the mornings I do not want to get out of bed, will rest silently at my feet and wait for me to slowly emerge from under the covers, and seeing her reminds me that I do, in fact, have only one lifetime in which I can love this animal. As far as I know, we will love each other only here, for a while, and that is worth seeing what I can make out of a few hours, even when I’m wrecked with despair.

here comes the airplane