"Ruins are not empty they are sacred places full of presence"
The winding stair opens out into the sprawling attic. A large soiled, bare mattress is in the middle of the floor. Over there, facing out to the park where my friends were supposedly playing a ball game, are three small multipaned windows. They are small and inviting windows just like the ones I dream of being able to lie in my bed and look of. Just like the ones on my sister's side of our atttic bedrom. I focus on the blue sky.
I slip out of my ruined body and float through the glass with effortless ease. I float out into the trees and the brilliant blue sky beyond the soft call of the Mourning Dove.
This graphic created using Sumo.
This memoir began with the June 8 post.
Holding and Letting Go
4 hours ago