What I noticed

Yesterday, was a day for the books. More was revealed about the person who had made me sad, and a few conversations led to a deeper connection, more unearthing of our truth. A conversation with Tin helped me understand how he is where he needs to be most and ended with I love you’s that he initiated. Lunch with a dear friend and dinner with two others and once again, I claimed my stake in being one of the lucky ones.

Here are ten things I noticed yesterday:

I noticed flashes of shadows in my driveway, in my house, on my screen porch and in the Hall. Each movement made me think for a moment it was Chilly about to rub his soft neck up my ankle.

I noticed a turkey vulture wobbling in the air as I drove down Highway 90, and it reminded me of Ms. Terwilliger from California, who said vultures wobble in flight because their prey is dead, while hawks stealthily glide with wings straight out as they swiftly move on their alive and alert prey.

I noticed how soothing it feels to enter my bedroom. The deep red wall that Robyn painted a few years ago is based on a color that Adrienne Brown David had made. The orange velvet curtains designed to block the light that remind me of Lucinda Williams’ song: Baby, see how I been living / Velvet curtains on the windows to / Keep the bright and unforgiving / Light from shining through … . A lot has been written about Williams’ lyrics, a metaphor for creating a life that keeps the harsh reality from entering. My bedroom decor may have held an unconscious desire to fortify, but it has since shape-shifted into a sanctuary, where all feels holy.

I noticed the large bouquet of flowers on my kitchen counter – purple alum, parrot tulips, Louisiana irises with beautiful red foliage – my neighbor gave to cheer me up after finding Chilly’s dead body, and each time I noticed them, I repeated, “I miss you, Chilly.”

I noticed the ceramic tile my other neighbor hastened to paint Chilly’s name on for me to put in my garden. The ink has run down the tile and almost disappeared because it had not set and it rained. Now even the dripping remains of letters warm my heart.

I noticed the Oakleaf hydrangea in its splendor outside my kitchen door. A plant that I placed in four different areas until it took hold in this one and declared, this is home for me, and began to show off in the most brilliant way only a flowering bush can do.

I noticed I hadn’t covered Wild Thing, and I’m hoping that a lot of water hasn’t gotten through the vintage jalousie windows.

I noticed how easily he felt slipping off his shirt to change in front of us, and I was trying not to watch but patterns of chest hair and back hair and folds of skin, and the tattoos were noted.

I noticed how much stuff one person can accumulate as I went through large containers, trailers, sheds loaded with all the equipment being offered to the Hall.

I noticed how three acres in the Kiln, mostly cleared, does not look as big as it does in my mind’s eye. The Hall is on one acre, he lives on three acres. I feel a need for acreage (read: escape, woods, away-ness to think and write and be). Three acres, I noticed seemed too small for my plan.

_{The Book of Alchemy by Suleika Jaouad. 
This writing came from the prompt by Ash Parsons Story: 
Ten images from the last twenty-four hours}