September

I spent three days here with people I love.  I like this spot because the view looks like a framed portrait but it's actually a real life seascape from the adirondack chair, from the wooden porch.  It's a hazy sunset, on the final day of August, before a blue moon (as in once-in-a).

It's the day before I rested in the grass, had a baby fall asleep in my arms, and walked the pebbled beach to the Osprey nest after midnight with friends, while the tide crawled in from two directions to create a perfect sandy point under the moon.

Lately, I've been thinking about how to frame a life, how to see what I want to see through the lens.  I want more time to write.  I want a garden that's only mine.  I want to travel to far-away places.  For so many months, I've felt trapped because the framework I've built doesn't fit what I want and I don't know how to build a new one. I've let things get away from me.  I don't know what I'm waiting for.

September, for me, has always been an empty notebook, a never-before-used pen.  September, I've decided, is for me to figure out how to have what I've always seen.