We've been occupied by all-things-parents, getting my folks moved into an assisted living residence while also dealing with hospitalizations for my dad. There's been a lot of emotion around all of it, from a lot of corners, but that's a post for another time.
July passed in a blur. My daughters went to see Taylor Swift and we are still talking about it. (How did they get tickets? We still don't know. But I was so grateful to have one thing go so flawlessly in July. My Swifties had a nearly perfect experience. So happy.)
As I attempt to get back into reading, writing, and poetry rhythms, I thought I'd share something simple, lovely, and relatable. From Barbara Crooker:
In the Middle
of a life that's as complicated as everyone else's,
struggling for balance, juggling time.
The mantle clock that was my grandfather's
has stopped at 9:20; we haven't had time
to get it repaired. The brass pendulum is still,
the chimes don't ring. One day you look out the window,
green summer, the next, and the leaves have already fallen,
(Read the rest here.)
Tabatha has the weekly poetry round-up at The Opposite of Indifference.