What language explains not having a break from caring for a 1 year old, except to work, then resume care, since Tuesday is making me feel like a spring about to go beserker against the wall or just numb, skinless blob of emotional mist hanging there on the air near the wall. Explains it without my other who works so fugn hard out in the elements all day hearing it as you don’t do shit? I am in my mid-forties and adulting is hard and just gets harder sometimes, at least most days he and I can laugh and agree on that. It is starting to absorb –pandemic now–and making meaning out of these simple every day details means more than it ever did. To me any rate. So I don’t miss a moment caring for my kid and it is true I love her more than I thought possible. Equally true learning to value both our unique mental health needs mine and his, sit with gender imbalances that slant–what is easy to ignore or not see at all, and try and communicate too?

Lordy. First harvest full moon was a dream. The bowls and chanting at the vortex in the south wood. The warrior women appearing and making space for the tent to go. The family that came, soul and blood, the work that was done and the bonds that remain strong, my return to yoga for the first time in what I think was maybe 5 years?

Elsewhere children return to school already, and the island nearby her sweet siren huskiness pulls at my hair. We are in a small drought now and parts of the lawn whip up dust if you drive across it. Also in the morning, and at dusk as well, there is already a chill in the air. That is so early for where we live. I am not sure what else to say about the oncoming fall. The sky is already September clear.

At least I got to write on her nap, and that is a part of tension that builds and can give me relief just by showing up to the keys tap taptap. Hopefully we will go get wet this afternoon, but if not today I remain ever grateful to you Mama Mar for your salt bath that will sooth soon enough, and your location so close down the road.