July 6, 2026

it’s seven o’clock
and i’m writing
and the wind is blowing
and my wrist has not yet started hurting [as much as it was yesterday]
and the birds are screaming
and the dog is observing
and the cat is nowhere to be seen

the tea is hot
the coffee is ice cold
and the water is the temperature of our old house’s old pipes
[so, in the summer, not quite as cool as we’d like]
[and in the winter far too cold]
but it’s a summer day
a summer morning
and the window is open
and the rain will be falling all day today
and i hope it feels like the planet is healing
so we, as a species, can maybe follow suit.

May 30, 2026

what happens when the apocalypse happens
in fits and starts
and tiny bit by tiny bit?

if the future generations survive, will they look back on us
with wonder at how we made it this far?

if the future generations thrive, will they look back on us
and laugh at how foolish we were to assume
that we weren’t at the start of the middle
of the end times that they
escaped?

only hindsight is 20/20
we can only concern ourselves with the here and now
and try to institute the lessons from our own pasts
our paths to here we can re-tread, our paths forward
have not yet been paved
but i can’t stop myself from thinking myself far into the future
with wonderment
with fear
with imagination
with questions
because i’m concerned with the future of our planet
and how we can leave
here
better than we found it

[can we
leave it better than we found it???]

October 4, 2025

half asleep
half awake
half in love with
half the people
here on half this earth
[though i love the whole planet
like i can’t get away from
my own desires, crying when i see
a single beam of sun
encroach over the horizon
of a view i’ve never seen in real life/
or simply the leaves of trees
i always see
but rarely really
look at
on my daily commute
using human infrastructure
and human pathways
to get to human-created endeavors
and human-built buildings
but right here
are magics
we could never
ever
ever begin to
develop on our own
without the pathways led to us
for us
from the
earth]

every
single thing
on this planet
is so fucking special
i cannot
cannot
get over it

[this could include
humans
and humanity…

does it?]

January 9, 2023

i am far away from my native lands
both in space
and in time

but i am native to the Earth
and i do have a land that raised me
that moulded me
as i trudged and trotted along
creeks
and fields
and farms
and forests
paying little to no attention
to human intervention
but instead lost in my own imagination
speaking for two, three, five, ten at a time
plays and stories and series in my mind
and the dirt never betrayed me
and the insects never bit more than i could handle
and the animals provided distraction
when i hit an imaginary interpersonal problem
and everything i saw/heard/touched/tasted/smelled
informed my curiosity
and invited me back
day
after
week
after
month
after
season
after
year

i wish i could go back today
but i don’t know how it’s changed
and i’m scared of feeling betrayed
by my own damn species
(or having it seem exactly the same,
and overwhelmed by how much
i’ve changed)

but

i’ve taken on this land
as my new home
and learning as i am
about kinship and the land and more-than-human persons
i’d like to care for this portion of the Earth
as the Earth
once cared
for me

September 6, 2022

there is a house plant
i was certain was dead
so i tucked it outside
just to get the sadness out of my head

but the plant,
with natural sun and rainwater grew
from the tiniest sickly shrivel
to four full leaves popping through

that isn’t to say
the outside is always a sanctuary
(our peach tree and hydrangea
can attest to that theory)

but i suppose what’s here,
the moral to this story and the full truth,
is that sometimes all you really need
is naturally occurring on our Mother Earth