Words, my mother my brother. Sister sky, I am still looking for you. The wind keeps blowing, just about to blow spring right along with it. Just pummeling in from all sides these days. And myself, always pummeling into myself. Desiring little creature that I am. Wishing I could find the focus to focus. Wishing I could straddle all lines at the same time. Wishing always for that aching horizon to break me in two and watch me dissolve. Baby laughter is more full these days. More ways to interact, to communicate, to laugh, to discover, to learn. Reading books with such joy. Sitting quietly just staring at his books. Tumbling around like the rough and tumble boy he is. He’s still not speaking…they say that’s delayed…I say he’s doing fine. Pictures, images, words flood my world. This winter has not been as difficult as others. And still I feel inundated with inside. With insular, internal, globular, global pixels that shine back at me like a trillion tiny eyes. And yet I see very little. And yet I smell very little, taste and walk on very few surfaces that make my feet curl up in response. The feeling of grass, of tiny sticks and balls and acorns that riddle the pads and bones of your feet. That feeling of being real. The feeling of being a strange test tube winter bot grows weary. But there is also joy. New and round and revelatory and I am trying to revel in it. There is also friendship and excitement and tumbling around in winter coats. There is so much to be thankful for. There is this strange boy who is my life now. Who hardly remember ever not knowing. There is this way he fills up my days and makes them thick with meaning. There is hope and there is learning. There is freedom, finally freedom. And still somehow there are the things that will never get done, the words that will never be said, the ways I will never learn from my own fault lines.

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