July 22nd, intimidating birds with an eternal wingspan watch prudently at the moment we need to shake the bedsheets clean of dust. We suspect it’s time to rouse ourselves from the foggy slumber of older kinship dynamics.
Sobbing, wailing mothers and fathers lament at a frequency matching only the roar of courage we need to utter. We sound the cry, dusting ourselves off, knowing on the other side of the garage door, a shiny, sun-kissed ground awaits. On this foundation, it’s possible to retrace our steps of development and bonding anew, beginning as toddlers rolling in giggles and emerging into full-throated, full-bodied dancers among flames.
The old sorrows, vulnerabilities, shame and maggoty sibling fights over dinner, too, burn, generating heat and purpose.
Singing a lullaby to those once-comforting dirty sheets, we cartwheel into the demanding horizon, salivating as it awaits our gifts.