Friends: One of the reasons I love this space is because it allows me to just write, to not worry about narrative arc or publication criteria or even a singular piece's point. If a moment comes, and I want to put words around it: Here. Here is where I know I can both talk to myself and talk to you, whether you talk back, whether you are out there at all.
And sometimes those words, as amorphous as fog, become something that coalesces, rises up--become a thing to see and sometimes touch.
I've been lucky these past months in that a few things I've written for this blog--after a bit of reworking--have been published by other places. Today, my essay "Tonic" from almost one year ago, is trying to reach into the moments of a few more people over at Mamalode. You might remember it? Sick boy, slow poems, a day that was long and tender.
If you have a moment, read it again--especially if you or someone you know could do with some tea and soothing words during this cold season.
Landing on Cloudy Water has been pretty quiet this past year. The reasons for that are many, of course. But one of them is a bit like what the earth does in winter: resting, storing up, doing the quiet work before the music swells up into everything come spring. There are words being written, folks. I hope you'll hang with me until they are ready to sing.