Red sheets and mid-afternoon toast in bed. That good bread. The kind that lets the butter melt into it like perfection and makes it taste how it's supposed to: Not like convenience, but like royalty. The world, of course, stops for no one, but there are strange little crevices that we can dig out and rest in. With a mug of a deep red herbal tea steaming beside me, this is one of them.
A week and a half ago, I finished the literature review of my thesis. At present I am knee-cap deep in the analysis and discovery.
As is my habit when writing, I take breaks to walk or clean while letting things roll around in my mind. Today has been packing up things to go to Goodwill- a prerequisite to my voyage home. My trunk is packed up. Muffled voices are out in the alley behind my house along with the slam of an occasional car door.
I've been thinking of organization, lately. Of thoughts. Of movements. Even, as mentioned above, the areas that surround us. There are so many directions in which to go in order to make things right. It is a matter of moving in one and not simply standing still. We all have something to offer, to give, to fight, to say. It's important, now more than ever, that we do.
Here's to the hanging closet organizer an ex gave me years ago, and to the lover that laid her dish gloves delicately across the arch of my kitchen sink faucet. All things worth keeping inevitably serve a function. Let's not lose sight of this in these scattered times.
Be well; be loved,
k.
(image: Kent Andreasen via arpeggia tumblr)
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