Small Stone -- January 21

I walked into the kitchen and it hit me -- I'm not hungry.

It may be dark moon and the energy is low and I've these worries all added up to carry around with me and tally once in a while or when the sun goes down.

But there I was in a kitchen. I turned on the light and it worked and I turned on the water and it worked and I twirled a couple of times and my bones did not complain. The house was all yeasty-fine with the smell of bread I'd baked, my man was playing music on his guitar, and there was that fact -- I'm not hungry.

I wanted to thank someone. Or pass it on -- cause you can't keep it. I've got the moment -- like this --  and then the world moves.

It's still the dark of this crazy moon. We're still not wholly out of what last year was, nor will we ever be, and yet some page turned. I put the kettle on for tea and laughed out loud. It had been awhile.

Moon, you'll come new and I'll say something's begun, but the intent of the candle I lit this morning while dragging my feet and crying without tears, was to rise.