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This is the shadow cast of me, drafting this post in my head.

For more shadows, head over to Hey Harriet's, where Sunday shadow shots abound.

It's been...I don't know...what, two weeks or so since my grandmother's stroke and subsequent familial acts of assholery? And, I'm still shaking it off?! I'm in that place; I'm screening my calls, writing open letters, rehearsing cuss-outs -replete with neck and eye-rolling in front of the master bath mirror behind a closed door, and a closed heart. Of course I know better, but there is a familiar comfort about this place. Anger, like oft-worn shoes, we know each other well. We've traveled many miles anger and I, for many years.

I sat out back yesterday for what felt like an eternity; pursed lips, tense shoulders, shaking my head in that doubtful, hopeless way. It was breezy-cool even, for an Arizona afternoon. As the winds blew, I took notice of the leaves that had grown on frail, young trees; some have even blossomed. For all I know, they could have grown as I sat. My thoughts, my ideas, my surroundings have all been blurred behind an angst-filled film.

Something though- something about the day felt brighter, it felt fresh and new. And, I knew my gut to be true in that intrinsic way that you just know things have got to get better. The birds, the large maize butterflies, their weightless fluttering, their directionless flight, the fortuitous deliberation of their presence and of mine, of that moment. In a whimsical legato, they beckoned, "free your mind, let it go, shake it off". So, I did it, and it worked, and I grew as I sat.

Peace