Blogs are strange. Start hunting through the fields of words and images; let yourself bounce off of suggestions and links and posts of the week and blogs of note.
You can't even remember how you found this person or that, only that one door opened and others followed. And these people amaze you. These complete strangers who tell you the stories of their lives.
I've been following Lisa's blog for awhile, always dumbfounded at how cheerful she was, even when reporting on what her latest brain tumor was up to, or her tenacity to keep writing - dictating her posts when she was too weak to type. Always, always trying to finish her novel. Anyway, she died yesterday. And the blog is finished. One offshoot of a story is cut, sealed at the end the way the flame from a lighter hardens the plastic at the tip of a shoelace. The fluttering vines of her husband and children continue. At the moment, they don't know where they are, what is happening, how they got here.
Now I am off to the Royal Observatory. The sky clouds over and clears again, like that game where several people stand in a circle and make a stack of their hands, pulling one out from the bottom and dashing it to the top, faster and faster. The moon is a half a biscuit. I want to see the stars. I want to see something that will pull me out of my body and disband my senses, scatter me into the sky. Hello Lisa, I will say. Come here often?
Twilight Scrawls by Kirstin Maguire
3 hours ago