Play Dough

I have a friend reading poetry to me when I feel city trapped, and desperate for beauty. This is a kind thing. The poetry, and the laughter. The poetry makes me love words, and the words weave together in my brain like a hot towel, sunlit. I feel steadied, a cat on a couch, curled up strong and content.

I have another friend who is playing Frisbee with me. We meet in a park and we are like Labradors. We are serious Frisbee-ers. Perfecting our throws. Far apart. Concise. Lofty. Straight and level. I like to play until I'm so thirsty I have to stop. We cuss and say stupid stuff, and the grass is always wet on my bare feet. I like especially running for the Frisbee, it's the only time I think of running. It's spinning and flying and I have to get it and I turn into a deer.

I've been needing to play. I spend so much time tending, and trying to keep up, I got a little lost. I'm rebalancing.

The playing has helped me write, which is also playing.  I hope the writing will turn into money. This is my goal. Play=dough.

In the meantime, I gather all the poetry and playing that I can stuff into myself.