there are days when i have nothing to write. today is one.

perhaps i could tell you about yesterday. how we went geocaching. how we scourged the earth with a GPS for treasure tucked in tupperware, how we rode bikes and said hello to couples in tweed jackets holding hands in the graveyard, how we ate arrow-roots and swung on swings.

or i could tell you about last night, about the way my stomach moved in the bath-water, my unborn son pushing feet against my flesh, how i thought about all of the ways i couldn’t control a single thing about his life, and how peaceful that made me feel.

and then maybe i could tell you about today, how it uncurled like a slow caterpillar, how aiden and i ate peaches and strawberries on the deck picnic style, how my friend and her daughter sat in my backyard and drank iced tea, how i interviewed two men who make music to a world gone tsunami, how i cried when aiden cried and how we both had a nap. and how evening-come, we walked the town round and i picked pussy willows and we watered my flowers and trent and aiden rolled on the grass.

i could. tell you this. there is no spiritual lesson, only me and a day and God filling in the cracks of it all, and isn’t this all there ever is to say? the way God holds us together, when we have nothing?

(shared with One Stop Poetry, even though it’s not a poem…)