Last week, a phlebotomist filled twelve vials before I could finish the Dilbert strip on the wall. Carmine clues delivered via MyChart predawn are only slightly less cryptic than the pain in my large joints. A spotted towhee whistles. Look up.
Oh Holly, what a gift this piece of writing is! I slowly emerging from a long and mysterious illness, which has been in some ways a blessing and in many a nightmare. Like love and battle, it does make it hard to see other possibilities for life. And yet, as you show us here, there are. ❤️
Jennifer! Thank you. And thank you for sharing. I am so glad to hear you’re emerging. Isn’t it funny how nightmares sometimes contain gifts? I’d love to hear more of your journey sometime if you’d care to share. Sending love.
This writing, and some of the comments, make me feel so much less alone both in my own responses to nature and experiences with chronic illness. Thank you!
Thank you, Troy. I’ on a path of finding out what this all means. And two things seem to be becoming clear—that I’m no longer resonating with a value I once held about holding my cards quite close and that I feel compelled to write and share in far more real time than is my norm on this particular going on. So, I’ll keep you posted. 😉
Feeling the interwoven narratives of nature, which we are; and are not, of our fairly recent ancestral choosing. And the coursing in your own veins. You bring us back to the connections that are always there, but not often spoken of, in such, I want to say, bold, and eye-opening verse. Right here, right now, with what we have. And what we have not. And all the inbetween-ness of life.
This was such a pleasure to read. Illness is part of life and here you handled it with great grace.
I loved, especially, the start of the paragraph below. Three short, descriptive sentences that set up the arresting image that Rona highlighted below.
I got drunk at a fancy-dress party once. I had a boyfriend who preferred to act free in public. I flirted with a dark-eyed painter. We danced like two strips of plastic caught in the same breeze."
Your way with words is astounding, Holly. The metaphors and smilies in this piece are fantastic, I feel like they help you convey so much with such little words. Bravo! :)
This! “We danced like two strips of plastic caught in the same breeze.”
Rona! That was the same line I loved and was about to highlight. You beat me to it.
You know what they say about great minds!
🥰
Oh Holly, what a gift this piece of writing is! I slowly emerging from a long and mysterious illness, which has been in some ways a blessing and in many a nightmare. Like love and battle, it does make it hard to see other possibilities for life. And yet, as you show us here, there are. ❤️
Jennifer! Thank you. And thank you for sharing. I am so glad to hear you’re emerging. Isn’t it funny how nightmares sometimes contain gifts? I’d love to hear more of your journey sometime if you’d care to share. Sending love.
This writing, and some of the comments, make me feel so much less alone both in my own responses to nature and experiences with chronic illness. Thank you!
Beautiful imagery, but - should we be worried?
Thank you, Troy. I’ on a path of finding out what this all means. And two things seem to be becoming clear—that I’m no longer resonating with a value I once held about holding my cards quite close and that I feel compelled to write and share in far more real time than is my norm on this particular going on. So, I’ll keep you posted. 😉
💜
So many beautiful transformations here, from tadpoles to frogs, buds to flowers, ice to water.
Thank the stars for transformation, right? Thank you, as always, for reading and commenting, Jeffrey.
Feeling the interwoven narratives of nature, which we are; and are not, of our fairly recent ancestral choosing. And the coursing in your own veins. You bring us back to the connections that are always there, but not often spoken of, in such, I want to say, bold, and eye-opening verse. Right here, right now, with what we have. And what we have not. And all the inbetween-ness of life.
“And the coursing in your own veins.” Such a wonderful gift to find poetry in a reader’s response. Thank you, thank you.
I love reading/feeling this tender, raw opening Holly. May it continue to hold you in its Magnolia petalled embrace.
Thank you, Kimberly.
Holly,
This was such a pleasure to read. Illness is part of life and here you handled it with great grace.
I loved, especially, the start of the paragraph below. Three short, descriptive sentences that set up the arresting image that Rona highlighted below.
I got drunk at a fancy-dress party once. I had a boyfriend who preferred to act free in public. I flirted with a dark-eyed painter. We danced like two strips of plastic caught in the same breeze."
Thank you, David. Those were among my favorite lines of this piece to write. Such a gift to have words resonate with readers—a writer’s dream.
Lovely. Hope your blood work and MRI are normal.
Thanks, CK!
Oh, Anna. Thank you. I can’t tell you how much your comment warms my heart. Sending love to you and your journey with illness.
Your way with words is astounding, Holly. The metaphors and smilies in this piece are fantastic, I feel like they help you convey so much with such little words. Bravo! :)
Beautiful words, as usual! Hoping it’s not too serious ❤️