Life is delicate, sometimes. Always, in fact, even in moments where strength seems indestructible. Still always holding on is that fracture of uncertainty, fear perhaps, or maybe just instability. The sunlight has finally broken through, after several days of rain. Puddle avoidance is risky business, especially with deceptively layered leaves still littering the sidewalks. Living is like one long song, melodies flowing and morphing, days passing like note changes. I'm still trying to play in tune, I guess.
I noticed the crack in my coffee mug today; not that I haven't made note of it before, but never the depth to which it penetrates. It is cracked all the way through, from the top of the base to the bottom, like an unavoidable blemish. This morning it reminded me of a memoir I once read, by Mark Doty, where he described the acceptance of his past as gold gilding of the crack on a beautiful cup. "Honor the part that’s irreparable. Not apologize for it, disguise it, not try to mend it in any seamless way". Taking the flaws and, instead of hiding them, healing them with delicateness.
Despite it being winter (though not officially for another two weeks), life is still warm and cozy...