When happiness makes its rounds back to me again, I lean into it. I don’t mean marginally happy. I mean the kind of joy that stops you in your tracks and halts any action that was moments ago needed, for one thing, or another. And there you stand, sit, or lay, looking at a blade of grass with the sun shinning and the wind blowing just enough to whisper your name as you tilt your head in an attempt to catch the message.
We live in a world where we look at our mortality rates as victims. We are the mortality and we are the victim. We do our best to understand where we fit into each round hole. As if carnage from the heavens scrapes its teeth at the edges of our wars; and all the spillage frees the smallest of fractions while we struggle to dig half a hole.
How’s life I wanted to know. I asked the pacing doors. The hallway wasn’t the same and the smells were changing- found a grievance filled with letters floating around my head- I wonder if I’ll see him again, even if just inside a dream or two.
We were trying to get there so we were there, and nothing was found. No wind. No noise. Nothing to smell and nothing to see. The digging for- found absence. Even the worms were away, also looking; for us to be found with thoughts free enough to live again.
I have this nearly non-stop feeling to leave the house and do something. Anything. Walk, hunt, fish, visit family, drive to the ocean, cross state lines and not follow rules. So, that’s what I do. I used to say to be free in America is to be without debt. But with Covid, my feelings on freedom has transitioned. Never did I think my government would prohibit movement and daily freedoms to the level they have. Thankfully, I didn’t listen, and it felt great to not listen and to find my new freedoms by not staying put. This may very well become the most important Spring of my lifetime. Every May flower is waiting to be seen. They only need to be planted first.