Some restlessness happened in the night.
Yoga practice, gentle and happy. Swim and hot tub. Coffee and fruit at Starbucks, writing and drawing on the patio in the sun, nuts and my homemade Kombucha in the hotel room. I pick up the girls, who slept in the street outside the venue all night. They have wrist bands, so they don't have to go back to the line for a few hours. They shower, then we go eat at the Casino.
The closer it gets to the time of the concert, they sing and dance around, more and louder. They take hours to put on their make up. They are so different from each other, so lovely.
Alone again, I chat with my sweet friend and head, by foot, to the American falls. As I get closer, my body registers the vibration, and Mala doesn't hear me anymore. Some part of me turns on. It is reverent, vigilant, expectant. Alongside the river, I feel a cry rise up, but it stops. My eyes water and I feel some nausea.
The rawness of the river, its speed, its volume, its urgency, beside people walking calmly, sedately, poised. I marvel at the geese on a rock in the middle of the rushing water, or the tiny birds on the bank. I want to jump in,to be taken into the vortex of its patterns. I want to be the river, to move and scream like it, to be that alive.
I miss my baby girl at home. She calls me on FaceTime. I'm excited to show her the American falls. She's slightly interested. She shows me her little brother who is filling her dad's house with glee. I feel delight when he says my name and smiles.
The show is a hit. The girls get front row.
When they return, I marvel at my ability to write and sleep, alongside their bustling.
Yoga practice, gentle and happy. Swim and hot tub. Coffee and fruit at Starbucks, writing and drawing on the patio in the sun, nuts and my homemade Kombucha in the hotel room. I pick up the girls, who slept in the street outside the venue all night. They have wrist bands, so they don't have to go back to the line for a few hours. They shower, then we go eat at the Casino.
The closer it gets to the time of the concert, they sing and dance around, more and louder. They take hours to put on their make up. They are so different from each other, so lovely.
Alone again, I chat with my sweet friend and head, by foot, to the American falls. As I get closer, my body registers the vibration, and Mala doesn't hear me anymore. Some part of me turns on. It is reverent, vigilant, expectant. Alongside the river, I feel a cry rise up, but it stops. My eyes water and I feel some nausea.
The rawness of the river, its speed, its volume, its urgency, beside people walking calmly, sedately, poised. I marvel at the geese on a rock in the middle of the rushing water, or the tiny birds on the bank. I want to jump in,to be taken into the vortex of its patterns. I want to be the river, to move and scream like it, to be that alive.
I miss my baby girl at home. She calls me on FaceTime. I'm excited to show her the American falls. She's slightly interested. She shows me her little brother who is filling her dad's house with glee. I feel delight when he says my name and smiles.
The show is a hit. The girls get front row.
When they return, I marvel at my ability to write and sleep, alongside their bustling.
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