Tuesday, May 30, 2017

the art of the broom

There was something about sweeping the rain water that pooled in the alley between our house and the Mahrs' that thrilled me.  I loved to go back all the way to the gates, sweep the water to where the alley began, I would push it with a enough force to get it from the opening into the alley, but not so much that it could not pool.  That was my objective, to get as much rain water as I could to collect into a perfect pool, then ever so slowly I would sweep across pushing like a squeegee.  I needed it to be water free behind me.  Then when I got passed the windows that jutted out, I would push that broom with all I was worth.  The swoosh of the water spilling down the step onto the sidewalk like a dam broke thrilled me.  The very first wave was like all that was good.  I can reach back to remember that feeling.  Sure I could get one or two more waves to cascade, but nothing felt as good as the first. 

I miss 

at the end of every hard day

You can't stop time, it just keeps rolling.  Sometimes you think that you are wise and know all there is, you don't.  There is no rhyme or reason, no matter how much you think it will be a certain expected way, it is going to change.  I thought if I held it all tight, I was safe.  I wasn't.  Then I let it fall away thinking I would be safe this way, again I wasn't. 

Now it will be how it will be.....I am okay with that

if you keep picking at a scab, it will never heal, you need scar tissue to cover

you can find some reason to believe