Damp Paper

We’re in between seasons here. Cold winds sneaking through sunny yellow days, snowboards and planters vying for space on the balcony. At the grocery store, seasonal fruit is limited to spongey apples and some mandarins that look everything brilliant and orange but taste like damp paper. My days lately have had a lot in common with those mandarins…

…and there I stop. My thoughts have developed a sudden habit of darting away when I get too close, when I try to form their likeness into words, and I can’t manage heartfelt honesty right now. It’s heartbreaking, as is the way I snap under the pressure of mothering some mornings. The way seedlings and ringing phones make me crumble. The way I lie in bed wondering if today will be a make up day. This is not a year I want to remember, but I wish I could put it into words all the same.