This morning, I thought, I’d rather stay home, read a book, just be. I’d rather dream a story. I’d rather sit down with a notebook and a purple pen near my writing tree, now in full bloom beyond the window where I curl on the little couch that matches today’s sky. I’d rather take a walk with a friend. I’d rather cook with Tyler. I’d rather rest my bare feet in the grass, lean back, be with just the sun and me.
This morning I woke up from a dream in which I met Kermit. That Kermit. Really. I asked him if he ever sings Rainbow Connection anymore.
Only with Jim, he said and there was the furrow of green, a hand become mouth become frown become human.
This morning, it seems, I wondered too much about what could be, what isn’t, what’s missing, what’s gone.