Catch up. February.

The sun stopped rising in the morning, they say that never happens that there is no mountain so high as to block out the sun.  But it did.  Day after monotonous day only grey.  Then finally after so long that I forgot that it comes out at all, there it was.  It was Thursday this week and my spirit gave a leap when I saw the first spot of orange.  I ran to take pictures.  I have so many pictures.  Like Mandy said over the weekend in that funny antagonizing way that she loves, how being friends with me means you get archived documents of all that you are and do, you get a memoriam in action of your ever living life one mundane or spectacular or mixed up as both day at a time.

I am so, so thankful for my mom and dad.  I came home this week there were roses waiting for me from dad.  He's lost 25 pounds.  He is my friend we text everyday.  Mom and I took him to Valentine's dinner to thank him so much for so much love, for being such a provider: the free place to live, the warm home, the soft bed, the heat bills that could otherwise feed a small village somewhere.  Somewhere where there's lots of sun but no food.

I talked to Beth said this is it, I said it last year but this is really it I will never, ever do this again.  I was talking about winter on the east coast.  She knows I'm serious, last night I finally told mom and dad.  I was flat out on the phone with her before I fell hard and deep to sleep at 9pm:  I fucking hate February.  I am so disconnected to myself, I cant even feel my body any more and it's totally seasonal and I know it and it doesn't help.  She totally understood but defended the sun:  it's gorgeous in Oregon on the coast right now, unseasonably so.  So much yellow light and warm breeze.  And yet still it's killing her too.  The February every year blues.  So what's the answer?  I know for me it's the option of being outside.  The year I lived on the beach in Oregon it was 60 and sunny through February, too.  And I never got blue.  In California there's always sun.

I've been writing, the book was stalled but came back to me this week but otherwise the cycle that brings the poems out got all screwed up from being sick.  I am still with the sniffles but the fever aches thankfully are gone.  So poetry time came and went and that pisses me off when I dont get my way to follow the words.  I am selfish?  Maybe.  I have nothing else to be...

I look over my shoulder right now the sun is sparkling white over the bay.  The water is moving in a way it hasn't been all week, all different directions classic fast moving river sway.  It was still and flat and rounded as a cup it just sat and didn't move except in the far corner near the marsh grass where the ducks bathe and play.  And that was just the ducks moving the water not the water on top of water moving the water in one great array. They chase after one another there is always lots of splashing and quacking and on Saturdays especially, why Saturdays I do not know, I go out there and they make me happy seeing them and hearing them in their silly duck language parade all around and quack out Hoooray!

Which I did this morning before it got all white out and gold.  I am on here to write and for no other reason than that, because even the weather didn't fill me with life.  Just hope, which sometimes is actually the most important thing.  And actually is life just not the filling kind but the thin line slight kind, like the words, perpetually right there Anicha Anicha one after the other in all its changing many same same forms stringing together in to long long day after days after days the ever continuous row.