What Unshakable Shape

Will your aliveness be tomorrow?

After feeding horses from the Caves of Lascaux and mucking their last night's stall while petals of snow fell over an Abenaki dawn, I ate a bowl a wood stove beans— buttery, small and green—and threw myself into the dry ancient sea waters of the Iapetus Ocean, crying crystals of salt tears. The Fool and their little dog rhymed a ditty that this breakfast tastes like the stanza of an epic poem woven by millions of years upon thousands of lifetimes. Ours but a lopsided stitch in the zero of beginning again.

Come now, breathe deep, pray world. What unshakable shape will your aliveness be tomorrow? For this new morning, let's rest as we should wrapped in sheepskins and share coffee, a forbidden apple, figs for our bones, chocolate for our tongues. The winter sun is brilliantly defiant in an impossibly blue sky, the winds are thankfully in repose. Even potatoes grow sprouts in darkness. Because the next storm? Man, it is sure to be a doozy.

Thanks for reading, take good care of one another. I’m so glad we are here together.

~ Alice