Gerunds, activities, inaction - towards an olive branch.

Posting only one day a week doesn't result in a huge number of entries over the span of a couple of years. I missed my perfect two year mark by a few days on either side, but somehow it didn't feel as though it needed a celebration or marker. A gravestone, perhaps, judging my choice of backdating the last few weeks, but no roadmap sign flare quick honey let's stop here for the tourist attraction marker.

Still, two years is more faith than I've managed to keep in some few relationships, so let's not make a molehill of a sand dune, yes?

This little place has held a lot of words, fiction, and poetry for me, and I still feel as though I'm not done. Perhaps I'll never be done. Perhaps this place will still feel necessary, still feel vital to my online habits in two more years. Four more years. Ten.

Perhaps it will someday change its colours like the seasons as I have changed my formats, my patterns (the only consistency the day), my choices. It will always be for me, for mine, for the spaces between the words where nothing matters and everything changes in a breath. Perhaps it will always be as it is--that lavender and white, those two constant icons and one that shifts as I find newer photos to adapt to the un-me state of this writing space.

Perhaps I'll someday actually pick the poetry out of here that I find worthwhile and edit it into submission-quality. There's precious little of it, but there are a few pieces that I still love.
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HeadSpace

wind whipping our hair into nests for the birds that rest in our skulls
the cold is strangely comfortable, for we are higher than the old hills
and if our fingertips are frozen, you can't tell it by our smiles