Rushing through the garden
with fig leaves woven together
a privacy fence deep and muffled.
Why is everything always in need of maintenance?
The lake was a little too sticky and muddy today.
The chaos at home needs organizing
My day needs some white space.
I can’t remember what brings joy
Or maybe it’s that everything brings me “joy”
Or is that just “security” I’m feeling?
Are these fig leaves little security blankets to cover up what I’m afraid of?
A diversion from the bare brokenness.
They’re all gone now!
The leaves were taken away when they told us to stay home.
Spending our time staring into the glass at ourselves.
I only have white space now
Bare skin exposed, I have hidden in fear.
Clinging to my security, frail and dying away.
I let that chaff blow away.
I go to the lake with sticky hands and muddy feet.
White noise to white space
I see the light like paradise.