Sometimes it feels as though
there is a little trapeze artist inside of my belly
or a boxer
or a trampoliner
or a spelunker
or someone who's knitting
or playing the tamborine
or kneading bread
all, of course, inside of a pool
with its curious slow-motion
buffered movement and, I imagine,
great transmission of sounds
Banjo likes it when I read to him and last evening, in my evening bath, he really liked it when tim came in and visited for a while, his deeper voice echoing and carving out shapes in the quiet and the water.
Don't let anyone tell you that pregnancy isn't fun. That's a rumor I've heard going around lately in my neck of the woods.
Every experience you have is what you make of it.
(Sometimes I even take my own advice.)
Elsewise, we're enjoying the fun of cleaning and arranging our house to rent, going for walks in the cold-these-days woods, making blueberry pancakes at odd times. I'm enjoying greatly these last couple of months with my beloved familiar local library, and have just a few works to frame this week for a nearby show.