Wednesday, May 23, 2012


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Last week, we had a thunderstorm that included three minutes of Armageddon. Which is to say, hail the size of mothballs. I had just planted up a few containers with herbs for our balcony and so rushed out to rescue them from said end-times.

And I'm not sure what it says about me, but I couldn't resist going back out and scooping up a big handful of them, knowing they'd be gone before the rain was.

I also tried to coerce the girl to come out. But she didn't like getting pelted with hailstones OR the feeling of hailstones under her feet, so she retreated to our bedroom. And whined.

M stood in the doorway and took pictures but didn't put a toe outside.

(Later I checked to see that my car hadn't been killed. It didn't occur to me to look during the hail-mary.)

* * *

I'm currently in a holding pattern, writing-wise, after a month or so of good solid work. Of course, instead of being happy about the poems I now have, I'm bemoaning the poems I could have had if life wasn't so stupidly busy.

But I have two writing days this week. And I have an essay to work on, the first long-form project I've set myself in a long time.

I'm really looking forward to the two weeks I'll have to myself in June at a friend's cabin in Riding Mountain. It's another kind of hail-mary: a big gesture towards completion of this manuscript.

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