We are everywhere, the creators of this space. We color every day.
|What was this notion?|
I have wondered what it would be like to have synesthesia where my taste became music, a smell a color forming into a particular shape. Maybe a wave would be yellow, seeing an old friend a brilliant blue. Red in your passion for food. Some days could be splattered, some nights in purple.
|That day we slowed down to look.|
I finally call her on her vacation though I assumed she needed a respite, a time to get away from all the need.
Kim, I shout like my house is on fire.
What? She returns my volley for volume.
When are you coming back? I tone it down just a bit.
Once again she gives me her itinerary though I remember, I know all that. I was just saying we need you.
She laughs. Mark said something was missing in our lives. The phone wasn't ringing.
Tell him I did good. I waited till Thursday.
I tell her two funny things, the kind of things you tell a close friend. Two laughs she gives me.
She sounds good, relaxed, happy.
The day, it is a swirl of pastels, an aroma of garlic and onion and berries. It is gossip in the grain, a bulldog smelling like a baby. A green Mr. Clean, someone asking for directions. It was a bright white light, rows and columns of Greer's grocery.
Give yourself a Christmas present. My suggestion.
Take a day off work.
Plan a dinner for your family.
Clean the house.
Set a nice table.
Play your favorite music.
Give your dog a bath.
Talk to a friend.
Make plans for a future.
Today I am so very grateful for time to relax.