The moment before rain is a tree felled, exposing circle within circle.
How to let the world, which is never enough, be.
Listen to this post:
On one terrible morning when the world gleamed pink over the palm trees, my sister placed her first, her still baby into my arms. He was blue, he was stone, he was feathers. He wanted the one thing we hadn’t yet learned.
The moment before rain is a tree fallen, exposing circle within circle. The storm gathers. The wind waits for you to run your fingers along the many curved spines of the sky, counting:
a year a year a baby born a moth tastes fire a woman braids her hair a threadbare blanket a ship drowns a fish swallows guilt a turquoise wall your heel, on earth thunders
and the trees suck their teeth at your slow counting but you must not miss even one ring, you must bear the confessional of this life, the witness of every pebble in the sky. You must count as you set out the basins, as you lock up the chickens, as the sky yellows, as crows fester, you count because everything is exposed and exquisite in this light and secrets blister and you must take notice because soon – soon – it will all be washed away.
After the rain a small puppy drapes itself over a large puppy, belly pressed to spine, cheek to neck, the small puppy the colour of sand and the larger puppy the colour of good earth, both asleep.
After the rain cuckoo birds open each yellow-green globe of guava, gobble pink jewels beak by beak. The guavas are exposed, bright and seeded and ripe. Kindness has so many names.
There is a garden box built of rough-hewn, termite-chewed wood and there is young lettuce growing in it, dill and basil and parsley. I will write these prayers and slip them into the openings between wood, into the soil that feeds roots. I will learn to let the world, which is never enough, be. I will learn how to be held. ⁕
P.S. Did you notice something new? This is my first time adding audio to a post! Many thanks to my Monday writing group for giving me the push,
<3
every time you write something and share it I think "my goodness that is my favourite piece from you" and so it is. because this one took my breath away. i could say all the places it did so, but of course that would be the entire essay. the way you weave words is magic, maaike. XO
Gorgeous, Maaike. Voice adds a whole new dimension. And your art … your art. Exquisite. To see beauty even in death.