All in Seasons
Every year, after birthday month adventures, I return, rejuvenated from east coast directness- sexy, smooth, and simple. Schnazzle in the speakEasy. Folx telling me what they want. I spread risky creativity (as in pleasure inducing intimacies expressed) over friendship, family, the familiar 5 generations deep.
Yes, it’s the month I meld into my couch. I’ve been intimate with Women’s March Madness for 21 years. Every “spring'“ as winter on our bigLake refuses to give up center court, demanding another round of celebrity, reminding us who last/every year’s climactic champion is in wavy, drama-queen kind of ways, I watch. Embrace sweaty ESPN-flavored enthusiasms. And watch and watch.
This morning I muse on the ways I’m tough skinned. The ways 2023 has asked me and so many of my beLoveds to be both tender hearted and resilient. Tap confidences like we turn up the thermostat, see the gorgeous grain of our surety as strong as wood-cell fibers.
Oh extreme beaching! How I love thee. My almost daily bibliophilic excursions offer a euphoric season of full body, mind, heart pleasure next to my bigLake. To end this practice is the most painful marker of change every September. And 2020 is no ordinary year.