Thirty-One: Weeks Twenty-Two & Twenty-Three

Days one hundred and forty-eight through one hundred and sixty-one

Photo by Raphael Brasileiro on Unsplash

Welcome back to Thirty-One, the project where I attempt to write something every day for a year. I had a real eggsistential epiphany on September 27th. If you missed any previous issues, you can find them here.

Day One Hundred and Forty-Eight (September 21st)
When I take a breath, I hold
it, just for a moment, before
I exhale. I let go of all that power 
inside of me, that potential for life
that sat so quietly, so still in my body,
waiting to see if I had the strength
to release it.

Day One Hundred and Forty-Nine (September 22nd)
I can tell you the color of the sky,
but that means nothing to you
if your language has no word
for blue. 

Day One Hundred and Fifty (September 23rd)
At the worm-eaten heart of things
lies a lonely creature wondering
why everyone thinks it’s trash

Day One Hundred and Fifty-One (September 24th)
The quiet light of an infinite sunrise
could tell us all we need to know
to be alive

Day One Hundred and Fifty-Two (September 25th)
I go outside with the intention of gathering
sunshine. I soak it in through my skin
and cradle it like a precious jewel. 

Day One Hundred and Fifty-Three (September 26th)
Disturbing the quiet surface of a pool
is like creating a mountain range
just because you can. Punch your fist
into the still waters and watch the peaks
rise from your violence. Life’s more interesting
that way; never mind the lives beneath 
your disruption. They carry on, waiting for peace
to return with your absence.

Day One Hundred and Fifty-Four (September 27th)
Egg

I don’t remember writing “egg.” I opened this note on my phone, and there it was. I keep looking at it and laughing. Did I write it intentionally, or did I accidentally tap an autocorrect suggestion? I don’t care. I love it. I love egg. An accidental egg is especially wondrous. I hope your day is egg. I hope egg is with you wherever you go. Think of egg when you need encouragement. Embody the spirit of egg. Let egg give you what you need to keep going. 

Egg

Day One Hundred and Fifty-Five (September 28th)
When sunlight falls through trees, it lands on everything below like raindrops of gold. Don’t let your eyes become so jaded that you miss the treasures dripping all around you. 

Day One Hundred and Fifty-Six (September 29th)
The shift toward fall has finally begun. The days are still too warm, but they’re bearable. The nights are actually pleasant. Soon, we’ll be able to sleep with the windows open, letting the chuck-will’s-widows lull us to sleep. Beneath the constant nightjars, the great horned owls sing their haunting duet. 

Day One Hundred and Fifty-Seven (September 30th)
The love of a true heart
is heavy. It carries the weight
of all the joy and all the pain
that created it. It emerged from
a union of beings, and it longs
to return to that state of connection.

Day One Hundred and Fifty-Eight (October 1st)
Time is made up, and months are man’s creation, but things feel different the moment October rolls around. Even the word October conjures a strange feeling of spooky serenity. The spirits are returning. Let’s welcome them appropriately. 

Day One Hundred and Fifty-Nine (October 2nd)
One of the things I find most satisfying in this life is opening a new jar of peanut butter. The smooth plane is like a perfectly still lake hiding treasures beneath its glassy surface. 

Day One Hundred and Sixty (October 3rd)
Late-night parking lots are liminal spaces of asphalt and street lamps. The minimal lighting of nearby businesses glows gently like a dozen night lights offering comfort. Sitting in my best friend’s car, the windows down, I relax into the dark. Across the hours, we watch the lot empty. Time loses meaning, but human connection fills in the gaps. 

Day One Hundred and Sixty-One (October 4th)
A great Rays team shit the bed in the playoffs for the second year in a row. An incredible season was erased in two days. All I keep saying is, “I don’t understand.”

Hope may be the thing with feathers, but Icarus had feathers too.

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