Cool

My pencil struggles in summer’s grip,
wishing for the old soothing
of felt stories.

My muse paces in creativity’s mind,
wanting for new tales
of lived poetry. 

I’ve poured summer
into parchment,
but my pencil dreams
of autumn cool.

photo by eberhard 🖐 grossgasteiger, on Unsplash

- I used to love summer. I delighted in the heat, in the sounds, in the lively brightness that seemed to touch all things. But perimenopause has changed everything. Now, what used to feel rejuvenating, exhilarating, and all-around fun is just… hot, oppressive, consuming. These days, I find myself yearning for the cooling touch of autumn. And the way things are going, I suspect that I’ll soon start loving winter.

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #37: Stay Happy and Alive.

I Can Use a Spark

not-quite Journaling, 38

7/3/2022: The first passionflower of the season is finally showing her colors and curls. I opened the bedroom window, and the bloom hit my senses like a double blessing: the scent is deliciously sweet and the fact that I can smell it properly is even sweeter (since it tells me that my COVID symptoms are going bye-bye). Soon, my Piano Man and I will be able to leave the apartment!

 

7/19/2022: After I left the military, a handful of good friends and I started a virtual news trivia group. We were avid NPR listeners, while in the Marine Corps, so the trivia group felt like a nice way to stay connected. The group has remained unchanged for 15 years. Two weeks ago, one of the friends stopped interacting. I was worried, so I’ve been emailing her. She finally replied today, just eleven words, to say: “I don’t dare the news anymore. I just can’t unsee it.”

more photos here

7/22/2022: New York City is hot enough to melt all desire for walking outside. My wee garden (and my not-so-wee hot flashes) are not enjoying the latest heatwave. Everything planted in small or medium pots requires watering twice a day. The same goes for the tomatoes and the corn, even though they’re growing in fairly ginormous pots—they just love water. On the flesh and body side of my life equation, I still can’t shake the fatigue that has been plaguing me for weeks and weeks. I try to rest more and exercise less, but… no joy. My doctor thought B-12 injections might help, but I haven’t noticed any change. I don’t mind the physical tiredness so much—pain and weariness and I have been dancing this dance for a very long time—but the constant fatigue is starting to affect my creative juices. That last bit scares me. I’m not frightened by much. Not being able to read and write and reason at my usual levels leaves me shaking in my combat boots. But enough of that. Tell me something fun and/or exciting. My exhausted flesh and bones and mind can use a spark.

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #36: Sunset.