I'm waiting... in These titles mean nothing.

… for the daylight to maximize. I’m up early for the new me. It’s a few minutes before 6 am. I’ve been up long enough to write half a page in the blue notebook. To wash a few dishes. To make a pot of coffee. To stew.

I sat on the deck earlier, looking at the gray foggy sky behind the barn and the slow leafing walnut trees. We had a lovely rain yesterday and perhaps more tonight after a good (and warm) day. I rely on conversations for weather reports. I rarely pay attention to the prophets.

I’m in an incredibly strange mood. I’m aware of generations who’ve lived in this house. I’m aware of the present. Like the pregnant woman, I want to be a year older. That was a joke - from my youth = the only person who wants to be a year older is a pregnant woman. I questioned the truth of the statement then and I probably do now. I don’t really want to be a year older. I want .... what I always want....... which is what I don’t know.

I have a lot to write about. Some is in 750 words. Some is in the blue notebook. Some is in private notes. Most is still rattling around in my head. It’s like my photos. They exist whether they are here or not. Whether I take them or not. Life is full of moments. They string together in the great cosmic line fence that separates one life from another. Sometimes they are recorded. Sometimes not. Sometimes they are part of our memory, parts of who we are, parts of who we become.

And then?

What happens?

The answer?

Nothing.

And nothing’s cousin:

Something.

And both nothing and something’s cousin:

Everything.