Recipe for Success
It's hard for me to sleep when I've had two glasses of wine,
and I'm off Facebook. I sneak back on and read about the measles
outbreak in Romania, before turning over and listening to a podcast
about West Nile and werewolves. Now that I'm a mother, I have some
skin in the game, which skin is currently on my laptop with a learning
program so I can write this. Even as I write, he emerges naked, gliding
through the hall holding the silver Apple aloft, heading for the potty.
I hear him settle in, watching an educational video about plants. It's all
being explained to him. At bedtime, I tell him a story about a campfire,
the chill feeling on your back and the heat on your front, the hypnotic
movement of reds and oranges over the burning wood, the crackling,
the freshness of the air around. He says, "That's because trees breathe
in carbon dioxide and breathe out oxygen. And people breathe in oxygen
and breathe out carbon dioxide. Isn't that funny?" Later he'll have to
vomit it all out, the world, and start over in front of an actual fire, staring,
aligning his body and mind with the elements. In the actual woods
he'll gather soul power for the days to come. Someone has to.
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