When I received the text that the transformer at the high school had exploded, it confirmed my belief that today will have to be a day to retreat.
My early morning study group hates the book and my coffee was cold by the time I took my first sip. Plans today required the use of technology which is impossible because, well, the transformer blew up.
Then, I discovered an old notebook with the starts and stops of heartache and couldn’t figure out where to tuck it away so that I will forget that it exists.
Stories came at me from New Zealand before the sun even rose and I am still unable to catch my breath.
I want to be able to bring together all of these disparate thoughts, but I am listening to my children playing in the surprising March sunshine (it is Upstate New York, after all) and I am readying myself for a weekend of push and pull, and I can’t, for the life of me, remember the lines of the poem I read just before I saw the NYTimes headlines.