from one to

so this past weekend, a goldfish

jumped out of a glass bowl and into

the ocean. the more it was jumping,

the smaller the bowl seemed and the

larger and promising and sun-flooded

the vast blue appeared. while all of this

was unfolding on the screen before

me, the more those glass walls were moving

in on me too, and have been ever since.

so as the fish hiked up my tears flowed

down and the drama mounted to barely

standing it in the middle of a pew in

church. my neighbour handed me a tissue.

and then some time passed (as it always does)

and I slept some and worked some and called

such good friends and ran a bit and broke

my no alc-in-jan-vow and drank some red

wine. and then the other night a winter

thunder storm woke me at four in the morning and had

me sitting up straight and silent to simply listen to all

the extravaganzas happening all around me all

the time. and with the masses of snowflakes

zipping around very unladylike, my ocean rose

again higher and higher until it swept across

without apology or purpose. and there it was

again and didn’t end and had me

startled finally once more. and that’s what

it does: it comes and it goes and it ebbs and it

flows and sometimes I sink and sometimes I

swim and sometimes I sit and the beach and

just watch.

it’s a bit control and

all grace.