hug peace

I keep seeing ads on my Instagram feed — it’s some kind of contraption that you place your head in — like a sling for your head that’s supposed to relieve neck pain. Maybe you’ve seen this? What do you hang it on? How does it work? I can’t bring myself to click. I dare not invite the ads that would follow.

I miss everyone.

This, today, is wearing on me. Anything I type here will be a circling back to something I’ve already said before. Less tears these days, not none, but less. More anger, more disdain, more activation.

Where to look forward to? Which way is forward? Where is the center?

I’m looking at two fat branches of the magnolia tree in the garden. My parents had tree doctors come and trim it back last fall. At the time, it looked as if it had gotten a bad haircut. All through this winter and spring, I observed the two hacked back tree limbs, watched for signs of life. All quiet. Nothing doing.

Then, like a miracle, a few weeks ago, a few new leaves appeared. It’s alive!, I thought, feeling silly that I didn’t trust the tree that has roots that travel underneath the slate, under the deck, all the way to the building’s foundation.

Today, there are vibrant green bouquets of green leaves on both branches. Bad haircuts grow back.

I miss you.

I want to see you, branches wild and green, free from a frame.

I want to see your whole face, while we march down the middle of the streets, I want the reverse magnet shield of social distance to drop to the ground, break into millions of icy pieces.

I want to hold you, still.

Hug you hard.

I can’t wait.