The Fact of the Matter

Is that we live on a crumb, burped up from the bowels of the sea.

If I think too much about this fact, I start to itch.  I know that the island, however small, can’t just sink into the sea (I did in fact research this to be sure ha), but still.

Sometimes I will catch my tiny arrow manifestation on Google Latitude and realize that my entire life exists right there on that slip of land.  And I’d be lying if I didn’t admit it can be a little disconcerting.

At night, Chris and I drag out the blankets and pillows onto the porch and gaze up at the meteor showers with hands clenched tight in celestial reverence.  It is impossible not to take note of the passing clouds, which are not only huge– with no real land mass to break them up– but also quick.  It is like clouds you might see while out in a tiny boat in the middle of nowhere; your combined mass of no real consequence to the natural world.

Except nearly everything of consequence to me exists right under those blithe travelers: little people throwing cups, trucks and themselves onto the floor in protest, learning A from B and dogs from cats.  The same way they did in their overgrown homeland of Texas (where everything is bigger).

And when they go to bed, I still have the same person’s hand to clench tight as I laugh, cry and bitch about my day.

Same play, different theatre.


3 responses to “The Fact of the Matter

  1. Beautiful post. At least you’ll be safe when the zombipocalypse happens.

  2. I’ve just stumbled on your blog and find your writing delightful! I look forward to more. STX is a wonderful place to be.

  3. Thank you! We have already made such amazing memories and met the nicest folks. Stayed tuned; I promise to keep the blog updated about our adventures on “the rock.”

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