and, then today. my fingers are sore from the playing of guitar, my mouth all dried out, my back bent deep on itself from the passage of ths day. there are crows crying at the window, and i am filled with the poetry of mary oliver. i have been carrying children, i have been fighting with this love, i have been trying to make my way through things that my heart is unsure of. i have been talking to my mother, loving the echoing sound of her voice, filling my ear. i have been hacking at my hair, so that now, it is shorter. so that now, it sweeps across my face with the wind, so that now, i am lighter. and coming off the burrard street bridge i remember what it feels like to fly and i remember that i have to remember that. i have no idea about anything, i am losing myself, finding myself, every day.