Woody's Beerman with snow
there was a saucepan of cheater's chili simmering on the stove and i ate it right from the pan, standing in front of the burner. we're having a winterlude, called by some, "the blizzard of twenty fourteen" and i've got things to do. like, getting on with the business of turning back towards life after a long, long pause in which that turn was, at times, doubtful. but the timeline on stasis seemingly ran out and moment by moment a word returned to me. that word, joy, was a choice and a mantra from a few years back and let me tell you it failed miserably as a word i lived by for whatever year that was. and so, it presents itself again and this time, i am buying it. because it has already injected itself into my year, even my end of last year.
i had entirely forgotten what joy felt like.
it is not big, it is little.
it came full on in a holiday with no presents, only food and lights and family. then it tackled me at the horse barn with not one, but a two horse triumph in grooming and care. a triple joy day came in the form of dearest friends, new flowered barn boots and a surprise beerman made of snow. and now, the winterlude with its string of days off and the busyness of rest and reading and digging out a dusty box of collage paraphernalia for a project that will not wait another second and hence, the cheater's chili from stove top while gluing said paraphernalia onto a garbage-picked thing at the kitchen table.
i have gained weight and i am lighter. wrinkles creep in and i am younger. the soles of my feet hurt and i am dancing for joy.
