Musings on the snowmelt, my first maple sugar harvest, the returning birds, and the deepening connections between all of our roots underground as we build bridges between so many realities and try to find radical balance in a counter-intuitive world...

(This format was inspired by Rogue's hilarious letters to algebra class, school, the weather, and other such things in Daily Roll Call today, Feb. 7, 2007)

Dear Pink Cloud:

this poem just tumbled out whole this morning after a night of dark and tangled dreams...

awwwwwwwwwww the computer just ate this whole blog entry I was working so hard on for the last hour. aaawwwwwwwwwwww.

now I am thinking about all kinds of things from the world of dark moon and fallow gardens, things like tarot cards and sex and chocolate and creaking doors and silver and green and still water and sailing ships and wind and summer and burdock and birth...

The impulse to write this came originally from a woman, with whom I am entirely smitten, who lives in London. We seem to have formed one of those connections that convinces you you are in love with someone you barely know, and inspires you to cram as many of your life stories into a few short days together as humanly possible. But the picture of daily life is so different from the recounting of adventures and insanity, heartbreaks and visions and dreams and disasters. Different, and yet part.

These days are rather quiet, except when they're not.

Today I have been sober in AA for an entire year. My last drink was a year ago last night, with my mom. Tomorrow I am celebrating with my home group. Crazy, crazy, crazy. I cannot even possibly believe how much my life has changed --