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The Fox Hunt - Diary of a Beginner

On Saturday

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Why is there always rabid sunshine when my heart in breaking? We are prickled with brightness and left with nowhere to hide. And the afternoon flames through the house bringing the fragrance of the salt marsh and carrots from the garden.

The daydreams are liquid and pale in their corners, and I am folding clothes from so long ago that they still hold their stories of from around the globe. I hear the vacuum and the shuffling of my father whose body curls around the the silver wand like the Kokopelli calling to the earth.

My mother has not slept. And cries. And is angry that we are now old and cannot remember how it is we came to this time to be together again. I smell bluefish and laundry and just the faint tracings of the Orient where those tailors have taken such great care with this wardrobe.

I am placing the histories, the fragrances that sit on my mother's dresser - bottles with no names or worn labels which I cannot read - by the bedside, in case she needs a memory which would help her fall asleep.

I smell sun and hydrangas and bleached gravel. And I am blessed with a heart which has been broken by a multitude of loves and dances with people who found me in an old house by the railroad tracks on Main Street when I was so very, very young.

The whole world should be blessed with this much love

Last night I ordered samples from L'Artisan and C&S. I am making new memories as the old ones reassign themselves to places in the attic. The future will smell like...

I am not sure.



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