doodly-doo-dum-diddy-dum

It doesn't happen often, but every once in a while I feel like it's written in the sky:

"Even though everything seems wrong, everything is right."

And god-damn-it, I relish those moments.

[god]

sometimes I wait
for an answer to arrive,
as if it were going to be delivered
by [god]

then I remember,
oh,
I don't believe in [god]

and I think,
this is where people who
do believe in [god]
get off easy

they can [pray] for an answer,
concoct whatever they desire,
say that [god]
told them so

and [!]
all is right in the world

Piercing Rays. And Sandwiches.

As I watched the morning sunlight flit between whispering leaves, making kaleidoscopic patterns on the dirt trail—as I sweated profusely and breathed rhythmically—I remembered a hike with my mom many years ago, probably over a decade, accompanied by two dogs who have long since died. And I remembered that we climbed in the clouds—up, up, up—until we reached something magical: the sun's rays literally piercing through the clouds, creating that visual ray effect you normally only see in movies or photographs. And we kept climbing—through the rays, through the clouds—until they were nothing but a pillowy, puffy white blanket beneath us. We reached the top of the mountain and ate sandwiches in the sun. Delicious sandwiches, because my mom always did—and still does—make the best sandwiches.

And everyone knows a sandwich is better when someone else makes it.

On a day like today...

...I wish for an easy train ride to a small seaside town where I can take a dip in the salty sea, drink a glass of something sparkling, sit on a giant rock as I watch the sun dip below the horizon, and hop back on the train to return home.

August & Everything After

August tends to be an unpleasant month for me. It means I’ve recently had another birthday. Another number. Another year of life demarcated. Another reason to question and evaluate what I’ve done and what I’m doing.

I get extremely restless this time of year. Every year. I have incredible urges to shake things up, do something drastic, take off to a foreign land, run away, reinvent myself.

August is that time of year when I know "summer vacation" is nearing the end, and school will start again soon. The pressure of "back to school" hits me every year at this time: Like a giant school principal in the sky, looking down on me, ready to throw the books at my head and say, "What are you going to DO this year, Audrey?"