Letting Go

9.21.23
autumnal equinox. Eight years ago today! I lost my baby brother. Now the light southward shifts again. Am I coming out of my oblivion? Guess I don’t need that hidey hole no more. I will let go, the barking of dogs chased the owls away. The lights in the night feigned security, but drove me mad. It was open sky and the trees that made me feel safe, and solitude, and silence, and the flitting of bats overhead at cocktail hour.

My little studio there, where I could putter for hours; my van parked in a quiet pocket where I could curl up and read a book. Someone shaved the legs of the trees in the name of fire safety, laying bare a collapsing hillside. I park my van on the street now, not so level. There used to be a lush curbside stand of redwoods here, too, too bad. Things change. Move along.

I think I’ll hit the road, heading home, looking for a patch of forest to sleep under, and a drive-thru double cappuccino. Not a bad plan.