the missed spaces, the missed places, the missed times, the missed rhymes, the missed persons I could have been or will be, the fear that restricts me, the choices that elate me, the food that prolongs, the life that kills and opens and winds up and scares and tears and screws, inspires and heightens and pitches and rolls and drowns and crowns and takes hold of and molds and breaks and pours into and empties and burns.

and here we steal away together

stone soup∆my offering

I came to this swamp. Out of the forest. Alone. Weary. Hungry. Homeless.

I saw lights. I smelled smoke and animals. I felt and held hope.

I arrived at a closed door. I took a deep breath. I knocked. A face. My empty hands. Silence. A door closed in my face.

I came upon another door. I took a deep breath. I knocked. A face. My empty hands. I begged. A door closed on my body.

I dragged myself to the last door. I took a deep breath. I knocked. A face. My empty hands. I cried. A door closes. I turn my back.

I have nothing. I am nothing. I am alone. I still am. I have me.

I sit down in the dark. Alone. I build a fire. Alone. I go to the well. Alone. There is water. Warm water will do. I have me and I have a fire and I have warm water.

I place my pot of water in the fire. I sit down before the fire. I feel warmth. I look into the fire. I disappear into its flames. Cracks and pops. Crickets. My tapping foot. My humming throat. A stepping foot. A body from behind. Bends over the fire. Opens their hands. A potato falls, plunk, into the pot.

They sit down before the fire. Feel warmth. We look toward one another, into the flames. Cracks and pops. Crickets. My tapping foot. Their humming voice. A stepping foot. A body from behind. Bends over the fire. Opens their hands. A carrot, plunk, falls into the pot.

They sit down before the fire. Feel warmth. Three bodies around the fire, look into the flames. The smell of sugar and dirt blows before the smoke and cracks and pops. Crickets. Tapping feet. Humming throats. A whistle. A stepping foot. A body from behind. Bends over the fire. Opens their hands. A stone, plunk, falls into our soup.

They sit down before the fire. Feel warmth. They pull from a pocket, two spoons. Back to back spoons clink, make, keep, meet the beat of my tapping foot holds space for a humming throat melody dances with a whistle.

xx we got this

You are invited to share in stone soup at the hearth. A safe-space for healing through creativity. Where does one begin? Let us feed each other. Let us feed ourselves. Let us come together first, with and through this one simple and essential act. To learn again, how to sit still together. Be quiet together. To learn again, how to be peaceful together.

dear a