Day 68
hear
I hear you. This sensation is familiar. It is as if you are following me silently and allowing me to believe that I am choosing the direction; but all the while, your hand is at my back, pointing me here and then there. Then in some moment, by some trick of time or consciousness, you slip past me, take my hand and lead me through the crowd. I just want you to know that this time I noticed almost immediately.
That Solstice in New Mexico, ten years ago, you were like a child running everywhere. You lit up the sky with none of your usual subtlety. We would have noticed the sunset even if we had been blind. Did you set me under that clear canopy of sky like you set those stars? You pulled me hard that night, right into the middle and I felt everything revolve around us. We are so, so small.
For weeks after the eclipse, my dreams were full of omens.
This time you are not asking me to move mountains—you are asking me to watch while you move them. I hear you. My ears are clear after the silence eradicates the buzz of my fear. You are clearing the trail ahead of me and I am supposed to watch and learn. I am getting the hang of it.
I just wanted you to know that I hear you. It is not such a mystery this time. I am watching, and listening. I am making myself comfortable in this time between times, as the mountains move around me, making way for new rivers and roads. When you fall back I’ll take the lead and we’ll keep on together, as always, as friends.
