micro morphs

I just noticed that I have used the word play in three of my last posts..that's good...I think.

So I did it.  I went into the garage today.  Yes, I actually moved things aside trying to find some books...Liz Grosz...my Marx-Engels Reader...it only sends me into a slight panic that I cannot find them...I really start breathing quickly when I touch any of the old books though...Such an intense embodied response.  Go with what I have, let the rest decompose more, rich soil from intellectual composting.

So then I walked in the foothills...it is nice to say I am a lady of the hills.  I am a woman who feels the roughness of the paths ahead against the soles (souls) of my feet.  I see the light, watch the tracks, smell the breeze...heightened eyes taking in the pugence of sage, processing the image of weather beaten rock.  How did I think I could write of pathways without walking them in the most literal sense?  

Canyon is finished with milk.  There, I wrote it, so its true.  Last night I rocked him as he whined "I want mama's milk," but he did fall asleep.  Then tonight, burrowing in, I held his mouth against the skin on my neck, arms firm around his body, I assured him of my love, he begrudgingly drifted off.  

I remember this with River...a more unconscious choice, one I regretted more...I always felt like I had nothing left to give, like it was eating me up at the end, but then when I quit I realized that it was school/work instead, not my sweet boy...this time, I simply am not present enough to make it worth it, but suddenly here I am again, no more nursing?  No more babies?  A path  I accidently chose (thankfully) one that now abruptly ends...but I wasn't ready for either of those things...any of these things...Now I just am them...passing, passing.