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the silhouette of happy. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

every day we walk our hood-harbor loop – whether we extend it beyond 3.5 miles or not – we pass this tree. on this particular day – with this particular sunset and this particular western sky – it was particularly striking. it stopped me a couple steps beyond it – whispering to me not to miss it – and i went back to photograph it.

wow.

the silhouette.

i remember a very specific photograph taken of me when i was (very) pregnant with my girl. i was sitting and teaching a piano lesson and, for some reason, there is a photo of this. looking at that picture after it was developed (as in film-developing) was eye-opening. i couldn’t believe my profile. it didn’t have the inherent softness of a silhouette, flaws blending into dark and inky . it was just – well – a straight up picture – no softness, no blending, no depth of field out-of-focus. good grief…i was gigantic. all, of course, worth it in the end. it makes me laugh now, but the day i saw the photograph – in one of those envelopes of prints/negatives you’d get back from the photography store or walgreens or wherever you might mail them away to – that day i shed a few tears. i was just shocked. one rarely sees oneself from the side. and, like, wow.

this morning – a few days before this is publishing – we watched a video of buddhist quiet wisdom. it was about aging – which is yet another time of life that our photographs look less and less like we think they should look.

i think the main takeaway for me from that video is the very simple message: you already have enough.

what we bring to this moment – letting go of all the other moments – is enough. the ultimate in presence. a profile of peace and acceptance and utter appreciation.

last week there were a few days when the combo platter of actual temperature and humidity yielded ridiculously high feels-likes outside. we decided to stay in.

and somehow, in our staying-in, we decided to clean the kitchen cabinets…you know, the ones with plates and bowls and cookware and platters and plastic storage with too many lids and not enough containers and dipping bowls and servingware and cutting boards and tupperware and handed-down mid-century glasses and corningware and pyrex mixing bowls and platters and trivets and jam jars that are now everyday glasses and those multi-colored plastic sippy-cups (with lids) and tervis tumblers and (have i lost you yet?) voila! two gravy boats and the plastic shaker thing in which you mix the flour and water.

so.

it was a ginormous task.

i said to him: i don’t want this to turn into a big-deal-like-all-day-thing.

ha.

it turned into three-big-deal-all-day-things.

but, in the middle of extracting everything from the cabinets and laying it on counters and then washing it all and d washing out every single old cabinet and shoring things up a bit and taking stock and thinking through what should stay and what should go and how it should all be stored – what makes sense for day-to-day life – we found ourselves inside very present days.

the silhouette of our days profiled narrative of the last forty to fifty years – old things, new things, things we purchased together, things i had from my previous life, things that had been handed-down.

it was a gorgeous sunset in our kitchen each day we worked on this project – lighting up stories from long ago to now, laughter and joy.

we worked both quietly and raucously. and, at the end of each day, we each had some pretty achy muscles from the up and down on chairs to reach cabinet shelves, the constant on-our-feet washing, washing, the belly laughs about curly straws and sippy cups and a yellow ceramic platter – to which i am still dedicated though i haven’t touched it in at least a decade. we were horrified at the dust and the far reaches of old contact paper and the sheer volume of stuff that had fit into cabinets that looked like it would never pack in there again.

in the middle of our giant-but-not-supposed-to-be-giant-which-yes-caused-a-ruckus-or-two task, we never once gave specific thought to how our aging bodies looked. we never once questioned where we are in life or where we think we should have been. we were just where we were. and it was most definitely gratifying.

it was enough.

and it was backlit by the sun, setting on each of our days, the north sky out the big picture window over the sink illuminating a hot day ending.

the silhouette of happy.

*****

TANGO WITH ME mixed media (sold)

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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in the eye of the beholder. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

i didn’t save this pink rose.

but there is a very shriveled dried daisy-that-looks-nothing-like-a-daisy on littlebabyscion’s dashboard. there are a few daisies from our wedding in a vase in my studio. and the first rose he ever gave me is on top of a cabinet in the bedroom.

despite – or is it with? – its distinct bow to aging, this pink rose just became even more beautiful.

this week – while at the grocery store – we splurged and bought a new lotion. it is an anti-aging lotion, a lotion that will eliminate crepey skin, a lotion with a potion that will make us supple and glowing all over again.

ok, well, not really.

but we do need lotion to combat the dryness in the house while we run the ever-humming window air conditioner in the feels-like 104 degree weather. dogga rolls his eyes every time we turn it off for a spell – he is a dedicated a/c dogga. his aussie self loves winter but not-so-much summer; the “cold box” (as dogga calls it) is his pal.

so, particularly in these times – spending our time at home with our aging dogga – we “have the air on”.

on the outside of the lotion tube, under the words “age renew” and “crepe corrector” it unequivocally states, “82% had visible improvement in crepey skin in just 2 days.” and then there is an asterisk.

ahhh….the ever-present asterisk.

the 82% had visibleimprovementincrepeyskin on the back of their hands and arms.

hello???

what about the rest of our bodies?

the reviews list words like “transformative“, “fantastic product“, “you need this“, “worth the cost”.

one person wrote that her “creepy forearms look so much better.” eww. just the words “creepy forearms” make me shudder. i mean, check your spelling!

another person wrote that they were a “side sleeper” which, to my knowledge, has like zero to do with the efficacy of this lotion.

and then there was the person who is using this lotion but stated, “maybe it will prevent that crepe look from happening in the first place.” and the person who is “approaching [their] 40s and noticed aging on [their] neck.” goodness! poor dear.

clearly, there should be age restrictions placed on the purchase of this lotion.

we hold no lofty expectations for this. we simply want a product that will keep our skin more hydrated as we attempt to do the same with drinking-more-water.

we know there is – really – no turning back. lotions and potions and moisturizers and all-the-stuff wasn’t consistently budgeted in our lives so we will be more like the pink rose, bowing to what aging looks like.

but, in defense of the pink rose – and us – beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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drink it in. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

we moved the sweet potato vine from the ladder on the deck. between the heat and the rain, it was struggling. we weren’t sure it was going to make it, which seems odd for a sweet potato vine, usually pretty invincible.

no matter, we thought, it needed to be moved so that it might have a chance. we transplanted it into a bigger pot and placed it on top of barney – a spot with maybe a bit more sun.

and then we watched it.

with few green leaves still on the vine, we feared it would not last.

but that little sweet potato surprised us. with little-engine-that-could chutzpah, it soaked up the sun, its perch on barney, visits from squirrels and cardinals, house sparrows and finches. and it started to recuperate.

it greened up – into that really rich chartreuse – life-affirming lime-green fabulousness. more leaves sprouted their way from the vine that started to extend across the keyboard. it started to look thicker, more vibrant, even verdant.

and – in the way that we see things – we drank in the simple-but-outstanding gorgeous juxtaposition of green and aging piano wood. stunning.

it is certain. color can help.

with all the ugly in this world right now, we could stare at that for a time and breathe.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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worker bees. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

there are large groups of seagulls here – and they congregate in all the normal places – like on the boulders on the shoreline, on the beach, around the trash bins by the beach, out riding lake waves or soaring above the water and scouring for morsels of food. they also congregate in abnormal places – particularly like the kohls parking lot. i used to joke that they were having a conference – all together for the invocation and then splitting off into groups for brief in-service sessions that are, i suppose, for the purpose of whetting their appetites for more knowledge about a topic – 45 minutes or so before they move on to the next mini-topic breakout session.

perhaps today these seagulls are gathered because they are NOT at the conference. instead, they are having a sit-in…just off the shoreline…noisy and stubbornly not moving. it’s their labor day too, they point out.

my first “job” was to go door to door in my neighborhood, dragging a red wagon behind me that was filled with baby cacti in tiny pots. a little later i diversified and added homemade candles. door to door, selling cacti and candles for $1 and keeping a log in my ledger.

at some point i added washerwoman to my paid-job list, as my grown-up sister hired me to do her laundry at the laundromat. my ledger shows that i earned $5 for this domestic task.

according to my meticulous recordkeeping, babysitting rates way-back-in-the-day were anywhere from $2 – $4 an hour, accompanying soloists for solo-ensemble was merely $2.50 or $3, tutoring math was $3.50 an hour. clearly, i was zealous.

i started teaching piano lessons to beginning beginners at age 16 and my mom drove me to the houses where i taught lessons. $3 (and later $4) covered the cost of a piano lesson, which lasted about 30 minutes or maybe a bit more. i have had countless private students through the years, in my own studio or their homes or at the music studio.

i felt productive doing any of my early “self-employed” jobs. that feeling of pride continued when i started working retail at the outdoor recreation/dive center or the music store or the photography shop. i was happy to earn money that i could save or spend on necessities or, maybe, things i was pining over. i liked being a worker bee.

as an adult, i began working for non-profits and government entities – which ranged from educational to religious to legal settings. it became quickly evident that better pay and perks were not necessarily going to be part of the equation. but, when one chooses to work for a non-profit (or an institution that functions under a not-for-profit basis) – though one hopes for ever-improving pay-and-perks – one knows there are limitations, and rewards for your work come in different packages of appreciation and in knowing you are making a difference in the life of an organization, an institution or a community. most of the time i liked being a worker bee in these settings, though there are definitely exceptions.

when i started my independent recording label, responsible for all the ins and outs of the business, my relationship with work took on different parameters. suddenly, everysinglething was within my scope to dream about, decide upon, to initiate, to represent, to carry out. everything that was related – even in small ways – was important to me and respectful relationships mattered: relationships with those i worked with, those who worked for me, those who were in concentric circles with significant adjacent impact on my company and those who were more removed but still had a role to play. i have loved being a worker bee with my own company, despite all the angst, the napkin math and the middle-of-the-night ruminating.

each of us makes choices about how we wish to fit in – what metaphoric spoke-in-the-wheel we wish – or feel comfortable enough – to be. each of those spokes matter in the big picture, no matter how seemingly minuscule or peripheral or menial. we all do this together; recognizing interdependency is paramount to any success.

in these times – fraught with the elimination of jobs, the dismantling of agencies and regulation, the bigoted prevention or stalling of women and people of color to advance, the trad-wife perversion, the mob-like corruption to stoke up money, the xenophobic erasure of immigrants and their very important work, the pronounced caste system of less and more-more-more – we are looking at an administration that does not seem to care about good old-fashioned work and how it should be rewarded.

ahhh. the importance of labor day.

there are some basics, after all, for us worker bees.

where have those gone??

the seagulls – at their sit-in – are clearly pissed.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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keep it straight. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

when i was sixteen and seventeen and eighteen i spent a lot of time hanging out with crunch. he and i worked together at the dive center and were close pals. his fiancée lived a bit of a distance away so she left me to “keep an eye on him”. crunch didn’t need any eye kept on him – he was a straight-up good person. nevertheless, he became a part of the family and we had grand adventures together, most of them out on the water somewhere.

in the way that people stay with you through the decades of your life, there are certain things – expressions – behaviors – you take from them. there are several i cannot even begin to describe that i learned from crunch. one, though, came from spending a lot of time with him and our constant companions: our cameras.

because of crunch i am obsessive-compulsive about my horizon line. i can hear him in my head – keep your horizon straight, straight, straight. it has haunted me for the last almost fifty years. that’s a long time to hear someone in your head. but it never fails – every single time i take a photograph – whether it’s on water or high in the mountains, canyonlands or a wildflower meadow adjacent to a hiking trail – i can hear crunch’s voice: keep it straight.

there are worse things. things that have stood the test of time that i hear other people saying, things that are deflating or hurtful. so keep-the-horizon-straight is harmless and, actually, good advice…even over and over and over.

we are fortunate to be able to walk along lake michigan any time of day or night. a few steps and we are on the path that takes us past the rocky shoreline to the beach and the marina. every day we try to walk at least a 3.5 mile loop – and every day one of us comments about how lucky we are.

i have only been out on lake michigan’s waters once. on a sailboat a long time ago. i don’t remember much about it – it was an extraordinarily busy time of life and i think my sail got lost in the shuffle of other memories to remember. i’m fairly certain it was lovely – to set sail and be adrift in this lake-that-looks-like-an-ocean, this lake with so many personalities and moods, this big lake whose very energy we can feel at our house.

i always thought i would grow up to live on the shores of long island sound…somewhere along the rocky cliffs that fall to the beach, sunrises and sunsets over the horizon of water a part of my every day.

it didn’t turn out that way. i left long island prematurely, fleeing trauma and fear.

in recent days i have been back there – restoring my relationship with what was my beloved home, the water that grounded me for all those earlier years.

i still don’t think i will end up living on the shores of long island sound now. but here i am, mere steps away from a beautiful great lake – with access to it for day’s beginning or day’s end.

and as i stand on the rocks alongside the water’s edge, the sailboat – adrift – is lit by the west-sinking sun. i snap photos of it as it glows and i hear crunch – ever-present – “keep the horizon straight!”

*****

ADRIFT © 1996 kerri sherwood

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read DAVID’s thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

long island sound circa 1977

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divergent paths. [kerri’s blog on flawed wednesday]

(a note: i wrote this blogpost and initially thought i would not share it. i gave it much consideration, time to brew and ruminate over it. i share it now because i fear that too many people out there are feeling this grief, too many people have lost beloveds in this way, too many people can relate to these words, too many people feel alone in this: the brutal division stoked by the actions and attitudes of the current administration and all those perpetuating its ruthless inhumanity. my heart holds space for each of you hurting in this way.)

***

and, though we came from the same place and the same parents, the same set of dna, the same ancestry, we are on divergent paths.

i always held you in high regard. i deferred to you when i was younger – watching you when i was a teen – inspired by you – thinking i wanted what you had built for yourself: a little family, a sweet husband, a house, a good job, a nice car, a pool. i thought you had it all and i believed that, even though we were at different places in life, you and i would always be close – on tightly woven parallel paths, weaving in and out of each others’ lives, forever.

i never expected to be exact samesies. you are more than a decade older than me. that sets up two different social cultures – you are leonard cohen and the righteous brothers and i am john denver and james taylor. you are teased and hairsprayed and i am long and loose. you are eyeliner and lipstick and i am mascara and lipbalm-at-most. you are queen-of-the-prom and i am studious nerd. you are fancy cars and leather pocketbooks and i am high mileage and backpacks. you are hot temper and i am keep-the-peace. you are brand-name and i am whatever-costs-less. you are mani-pedi and i am do-it-myself. you are lovely restaurants and i am modest recipes and leftovers. you are white wine and i am red. you are palm trees and i am aspens. you are the south and i am the north. you are gold and diamonds and i am basic silver. you are generous and i am frugal. you are ethan allen and new and i am peeling-paint-vintage and repurposed. you are worked-for-companies and i am owned-small-business. you are sometimes a bit unaware and i am sometimes ridiculously over-sensitive. you are financially secure and i am ever-teetering.

none of that was or is deal-breaking. of course not. it is simply two people becoming who they are.

i haven’t always been happy with you. it’s likely you haven’t always been happy with me. because of our age difference, you have often chosen to act more like a mother-figure than a sister, judging or instructing instead of supporting. and, at times of true emotional turmoil, you have sometimes chosen to be betraying to our sisterly sisterhood. during the time that our daddy died we stuck it out together. during the time our sweet momma died it was tough. in a nod to avoiding conflict, i didn’t say anything and we continued on in life, still in the same tapestry of family, riding the coaster of both confusing, hurtful missteps and loving support of each other. even with all the reasons i may have been upset with you and you upset with me – through decades of living – i never thought there would be a time when there would be irretrievable distance between us.

until now.

every day i shudder to read what is happening in this country, what cruelty and destruction this administration has now wrought upon the populace of our nation. every day i cannot believe that you are in favor of this hideousness.

it absolutely breaks me.

my sister…our faces look the same. the more i age, the more i see you in the mirror.

and yet, there is something so very basic about our hearts that is different. something so fundamentally and extremely opposite.

and that, my dear beloved sister, has placed us on such divergent paths – such chosen disparate and conflicting paths – that i wonder if we will ever recover.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this WEDNESDAY

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time to fly. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

it is of note that i had to look it up – the first day of school in our town. i am no longer in touch with the district calendar; it no longer has any real bearing on our calendar.

today is the first day. wisconsin has some kind of rule (protecting late summer tourism) that school start must be in the month of september, so september 1st it is.

there is a certain feeling i get in my stomach on the first day of school – even when i, and now my children, have far outgrown this day. though i loved attending school back in the day, it was hard when summer had drawn to a close and my children had to go back to the structure of the school calendar. i missed them being at home. it was hard when i – during the years i taught in public schools – had to adhere to that structured calendar, those structured days. and then, my children’s college years – which presented even more mom-challenges for me. change is tough and redefining oneself as school starts gets those belly-butterflies going.

we drove past one of the colleges in our town and starting talking about jobs for which we had applied at the various higher level education institutions in our town. in the end we were both grateful to have not received offers from any of them. we talked about our lives as artists and that having our own businesses – as difficult as it is, with many pressures and worries – was more our cup of tea. there is no summer-ending-start date or summer-nearing-end date, no defined work hours or time-off dates or in-service dates for your own business. there is also no salary chart or healthcare plan, retirement savings or pension program, employee assistance program or life insurance. nevertheless, our businesses – individually and mutually – have been that which gives us flight and that is what we wish for all, recognizing that everyone will choose differently.

in these days of an administration that pushes back on actual learning of actual facts about actual things that actually happened, i wonder how teachers are dealing with the dumbing-down, the skeletonizing of our country’s history, of literature, of the arts, of science.

i want to believe that children – as they start school again – have – at their fingertips – a wide open horizon that invites them to find their own compass and to follow in the direction or directions they choose.

i would like to believe that they will be encouraged – by our government as well as their teachers – to explore and to dream, to research and to check their work, to seek answers as well as questions.

i would like to believe that they will see that anything is possible for them – if they work at it.

on this first day of school, i wish for each school child to be able to run at the horizon and jump, following their natural instinct to learn, to grow and, mostly, to fly.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

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two imperatives. [kerri’s blog on merely-a-thought monday]

oh, if only it were that easy.

though i recognize how very impactful graffiti may be, i am not necessarily a blanket-fan of graffiti on public property.

these words, however, caught my attention: “be happy” “be kind”

such a simplicity – the imperative of life – in two short sentences.

someone – or someones – thought it important enough to place these thoughts in blue spraypaint onto the lake’s shoreline rocks. they didn’t sign their name or names, but i can understand that…that would be risky. nevertheless, they felt the risk of defacing the boulders was worth it – especially in light of the message they were leaving for others to see.

in these recent days, we lost an icon in the music world. dolly parton lived the imperative of art and of tenacity and of life and demonstrated a generosity that leaves a legacy stamped all over the world, forever. her example is profound. happy and kind were her companions.

completely the opposite is the deplorable example of the leader of this country. his feverish need for his name to be everywhere is distorted, narcissistically outsized. his pugnacious and gluttonous attitude prevailing over utterly everything he does, it is difficult to even utter his name without shuddering. this is not something we want graffiti-ed all over our precious country. enough already.

there is a tiny card that sits in my studio. it reads: “if you asked me what i came into this world to do, i will tell you: i came to live out loud.”

to live out loud – happy and kind.

seems pretty simple.

and it is easy to discern the difference – between those who live happy, who live kind and those who do not.

why would we elevate, entrust, enable, elect or endure anyone who does not?

so why – as a country – are we?

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this MERELY-A-THOUGHT MONDAY

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the flower in the middle. [kerri’s blog on d.r. thursday]

we usually leave our house – and arrive at our house – through the back door. it all started when, years ago, i was having trouble with the front door – the key wouldn’t work in the lock and – at the time, and for some time – it was too pricey to have a locksmith either fix it or install a whole new handle assembly on an old door with a really unique and beautiful vintage brass handle. so i used the back door instead. exclusively.

now, clearly i went to the front door to answer it, to check the mail, to exit directly into the front yard. it was just more secure to leave through the back and it was impossible to enter through the front.

phew. enough about that.

anyway, the other day – mid-afternoon – i went to the front door to check the mailbox. dogga always comes with me to “check the mail with momma”. glancing out, i could see this bright yellow flower – just one – happily growing next to one of the big ornamental grasses between our front sidewalk and the old brick wall.

all perky-like, it totally captured my attention – this little stranger in the midst of all the green fronds around it.

it didn’t look unhappy in its lostness. on the contrary, it looked completely at ease.

when i was little i had this inordinate, oversized fear of getting lost. i was completely not at ease with it. and my big brother fed this fear (just like my big sister fed fears of mine – for they were both a decade older than me and i was an easy target.)

i would be traveling with my dad and my big bro – in our pink camper van they converted from a long island lighting company (lilco) fleet-van. this van had a propensity for breaking down and it always seemed to be while we were upstate somewhere, forcing us to get off the highway onto these side roads to nowhere – woods and fields everywhere and no gas station to be found. my heightened angst about being lost would kick in – egged on by my beloved brother. i was little enough to be convinced we were never going to get home from the place-in-the-forest we had ended up, always stuck on the side of the road in a pink camper van, forever and ever more.

because my dad and my brother were both male – they were not inclined to ask for help or directions or a tow. instead, they did things like cut bits of barbed wire from random fences to resecure whatever it was in the engine that was falling apart. they’d drive and drive for miles – using the sun for guidance – to try and find their way back to an entrance to the highway. you know, various brilliant avoidances of utilizing the rest of humanity to help them.

to their credit, we always did get home safe and sound. and – to their credit – they truly were brilliant themselves – resourceful rube goldbergs – creativity and mechanical savvy combining to make every journey a success, no matter what.

i do think, though, that there are many people who – like this beautiful yellow flower – find themselves out of place, lost. out of place and lost can make one feel increasingly frantic and afraid:

“i think a lot of people are like this – lost, confused, and looking for directions but too scared or embarrassed or ashamed to ask for help.” (valerie bertinelli)

in all the adult travel i have done – particularly the solo travel – i have, like you, not really wanted to get lost on the way. but something about always arriving – when i was a child who was fearful – taught me to just take a breath. i have found that i talk aloud to myself as i drive through confusing territory – reminding myself i can always turn around and retrace my steps, i can always go back over the bridge the way i came, i can always pull over and regroup. and these days – with GPS at our side guiding our every veer and turn – this is even less imperative.

that doesn’t cover existential lostness, though. it doesn’t help with the out-of-place we feel in situations or circumstances – crossroads – of life that have nothing to do with traveling or maps.

” so many travelers say that sometimes you have to get lost to find what you’re looking for…”

maybe it’s those early days in our pink van that helped. the laughter and the tears, the ribbing and the comforting, the getting lost and the finding. it all somehow balances out.

in just a few days our little yellow flower was no longer there. it was almost like it had moved on.

but i do believe it was supposed to be right there – right out the now-keylock-accessible front door – waiting for us to see its happy face.

a little drop-in flower that reminded us of the raw of lostness and foundness and the time in the middle.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this D.R. THURSDAY

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the glow. [kerri’s blog on not-so-flawed wednesday]

it began ever-so-slowly. but on a day we needed a glow, the glow showed up.

all of a sudden – from our adirondack chairs on the patio – we could see a glow peeking out, growing behind the metal sunflower over in the fern garden in the back corner of our yard.

we are sunseekers – but not in a tanning sort of way. on this day, after many days of humid and overcast, humid and hot, humid and ridiculously hot, here was a day that was significantly less humid. the early evening was starting and we were not sweltering. instead, we were tiki-torch-sitting in the backyard, watching the world turn.

i aimed the camera around the yard – to capture that time – barney and our daylilies, the taller switchgrasses, the birdbath, the pond, the ferns and breck, dogga laying on the deck. a half hour later is when the sun started to sneak between the back of the garage and the fence – the amber of my favorite spotlight fresnel gel – this time backlighting the metal sunflower we brought home from dogga’s birthtown across the state.

the sun is streaming across the quilt right now. it is a glorious early morning and our windows are open. the streaming sun assuages worries we carried into the dawn.

i think about all the times i have spent deliberately watching the sun rise. the fence-climbing into crab meadow beach, the eastern sky over the ocean, the sky over lake michigan, over the mountains, in the utah desert, climbing over redrock. i think about all the times i have spent deliberately watching the sun set. northport harbor, the gulf beaches, over summit county mountain peaks, over the grandest of canyons and the quietest of canyonlands, the answer to the sunset of the eastern sky over the lake, off the dock up-north, looking west from our southport beachhouse, in endless farmlands, on favorite hiking trails, off the coast on-island.

to deliberately watch the sun is to see in-real-life the parameters of a day. to know that – in what feels like an instant – another day will start, another day will end. and on and on it goes.

we recently heard news of the death of someone we knew. it took us both by surprise and saddened us. and it made me fall back into that weird space i always feel when learning someone has died – the wondering space – where i wonder how it is that the world can go on if this person cannot feel it.

i know it does – go on.

and i’ve never really answered the question. it just feels too big – too humbling, too consuming, too heavy, too existential – for me to truly wrap my head around it.

i don’t know…

maybe that’s why i watch the sun rise and the sun set.

maybe the glow knows.

*****

read DAVID’s thoughts this NOT-SO-FLAWED WEDNESDAY

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