Year Of


January: Home. Home. Home. Home. Home. Utter relief, even through the aftermath of the upheaving it took to get here. Friendship. Home.

February: Dance again. Like deep, soaking rain after months of drought. Snow like I had forgotten. Cold the same. Rest.

March: Endings, and, more frightening, beginnings. The failing of friendship, and the discovery of a future beyond friendship. Questions about legacy, and my place in it. Missing people. Wonder at the beauty of it.

April: Mud, blizzards, sugaring, lambs. Real spring like I have not seen in five years. Much, much joy.

May: Discovering passion in work – real work. Falling away from old habits and hobbies, aching in the loss of them, rejoicing in the finding of other things. Recovery. Unexpected dance again. Contentment.

June: Dance. Work. Good, honest, solid. Thrilling in the labor of it. Growing desperation for slowness – a daily struggle to keep the hours from passing, the days from passing, the weeks from passing. The witnessing of two become one – miraculous grace.

July: The discovery of a community I didn’t know existed. Dancing for a people whom I love with the thickest, fullest love. Belief in the project I have devoted myself to. Worry over money, over the future. Continued anxiety at the passage of time.

August: Dread of the shortening days. The ending of the Farm to Ballet Project, the beginning of full-time work at a place I have come to love as a home, a family, friendship unlookedfor. Surprising joy, again. Stepping towards the minefields to dance.

September: Sudden disagreement. Learning respect, learning humility, learning blind trust, learning helplessness. Running from these lessons. Running from a lot of things.

October: Running some more, towards as well as away. The re-waking of shared perspectives. Peace through books, books, books. Fear of forgetting. Discord.

November: Autumn come and gone, prehistoric skies. Photographs. Running. Change. Loneliness like there has not been in a decade. Learning to navigate the unfolding, the furling, the growth and change and stagnation and movement and life of a friendship. Finding poetry again.

December: Dance – swift, beautiful endings. More deep loneliness. Overwhelming tug-of-war. Quiet obsession over new friends, quiet ache of their emptiness. Exulting in the winter. Confusion. Frustrated pacing before unchanging continuance, uncertainty of future, the fact that I am. still. here. Desperation, clawing, frantic for another voice. Quiet, flickering, timid hope for, perhaps, something.





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