november

I wish so much that I could share with you the light that floods over me now, as I sit on this back porch and listen to the birds chattering in the trees, leaves turned gold in the setting sun. Somehow this sunset glows brighter than the warm, early autumn afternoon that preceded it, and the silver rim of my teacup glints every time I raise it to my lips. It is enough.

Everything is vibrant and full, from the new thick sea of rye grass to the honeysuckle bushes that hold lizards and finches and the occasional cat. There are remnants of jasmine on my lips, my nail polish cracked but just clinging to the edges of my nail beds, my body is so in contact with the things of this world that when the final rays of light slip over the garden wall and fall to rest on my skin, it is almost a lovemaking. The relations of my body to this earth are enough; even absent the baby's laugh, lover's scent, shared alliances of a three AM dialogue, my breath, lungs, ears, eyes, they have everything they need to take in- and how, then, the joy bursts forth when any other earthbound body happens into contact with my own. My world is not mine, and yet it is crafted with me in mind, as I have been crafted for it, and here on this wicker lawn chair I am the puzzle piece that has been called for in this moment. It is enough.

Somewhere, you, too, are aligned with this earth, your skin baked in my sun, eyes full of my sky, and somewhere, where the soul meets the world, is your breath, and when the two collide- oh. It is enough.