fresh hay

There came a recent time when the barn was almost empty. There were no words to speak of that almost emptiness, that dearth of all things that felt sustaining. I walked the floors kicking at the thin layer of hay and dust, searching for what to do, how to fill it all back up again. But in the kicking and shuffling back and forth, I came to understand there is no filling back up or in with what has already been and what used to be.

There came a recent time when the only option was to let the almost emptiness be.

To allow, allow the ghosts of fear and falseness dance the length of the dusty boards until the dirge of decades exhausted itself.

It still has a few more refrains to play.

And I still have almost nothing to say.

I am only just now scouting fields for fresh hay.

The time of choosing and cutting and baling to fill in the almost emptiness will arrive, I trust, someday.



{p.s. and by the way~ do not interpret this as tinged with sadness. it is re-calibration that cannot be expressed. neither happy nor sad. simply what is and has been. xo}