Thirty-One: Weeks Forty-Seven & Forty-Eight

Days three hundred and twenty-three through three hundred and thirty-six

Photo by Eddy Edwin on Unsplash

Welcome back to Thirty-One, the project where I attempt to write something every day for a year. If you missed any previous issues, you can find them here.

Day Three Hundred and Twenty-Three (March 14th)
Don’t let the unexpected run you into the ground.

Day Three Hundred and Twenty-Four (March 15th)
I had a cream soda today for the first time in decades, and drinking it felt like falling back into childhood. I could taste memories of library trips and lunches in the park with my Geegee. I finished the old-fashioned glass bottle soon after I opened it, unable to control my fervor. I can’t remember the last time I had a soda. Today, I might have two.

Day Three Hundred and Twenty-Five (March 16th)
Kindness breaks down more barriers than anger. 

Day Three Hundred and Twenty-Six (March 17th)
I’m yet again wondering why I committed to this project. My mind is so empty. Then again, I’ve had fewer days like this than days with small inspirations. Only a few more weeks to go. 

Day Three Hundred and Twenty-Seven (March 18th)
I finished my coffee this morning while watching (and listening to) my cat eat a lizard. She chased it around the living room for a while before I heard a crunch. This was followed by more crunching and dismemberment of said lizard. She left the bottom half of its body splayed on the tile while she pivoted to the tail dropped in the initial hunt. When she finished with that, more crunching. I was simultaneously disgusted and fascinated by this display of nature. Tonight, the fierce predator will curl up beside me and fall asleep in a cozy bed.

Day Three Hundred and Twenty-Eight (March 19th)
Fear sits in your stomach
like a small, crazed creature 
scratching at your insides
and trying to break free

Day Three Hundred and Twenty-Nine (March 20th)
The pale gibbous moon sits
against the blue, basking
in the daylight like a seashell
washed up on the sand. 
Time and the elements smoothed
the rough edges, but the stories
gathered in the grooves remain. 

Day Three Hundred and Thirty (March 21st)
Last night, my fridge began grumbling louder than usual. Its insides hummed like the slow breath of a great beast sleeping. I drifted off to the sounds of its discontent, and when I awoke this morning, the creature seemed to have awakened as well. The steady rumble is now gone, but it still voices its irritation in short bursts. It appears a call to the repairman is in order.

Day Three Hundred and Thirty-One (March 22nd)
the soft scent of rain
freshly returned to the earth 
a union of sighs

Day Three Hundred and Thirty-Two (March 23rd)
The scent of rain-soaked jasmine
permeates the night air, and I
inhale as if I could coat my lungs
in that white-petaled magic
blooming beneath the moonlight 

Day Three Hundred and Thirty-Three (March 24th)
My eyelids are drawn together
like long-separated lovers
finally seeing one another again.
How can skin so thin
feel so heavy?

Day Three Hundred and Thirty-Four (March 25th)
The gardenias are getting ready to bloom. Bright green buds have appeared on the branches, still tightly bound, waiting for the perfect moment to unfurl. Rain is on the way soon. Perhaps it will coax forth the fragrant petals.

Day Three Hundred and Thirty-Five (March 26th)
Every decision is
a story of splintering—
a moment in time
broken in two

Day Three Hundred and Thirty-Six (March 27th)
The truest stories live
in the negative space, hiding
between the shinier things
that draw our eye

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