dispatch

There's that ringing in your ears by Lauren Steele

When did you stop hearing the ringing of the world in your ears?

I wonder, how did our thickening blood halt to the hurling of the planet?
Is the spinning of the axes the only chaotic routine we could never keep up with

Did your skin get tougher?
Did your senses get dull?
Did your heart tucker out?

Because I still feel dizzy when I spin away from the wind
And weak when mother nature breaks my bones. 

I still feel small enough to need to look up

I still feel like the child
Who wondered what was that ringing in my ears
When all was silent. 

(Hood River, 2016)

dispatch from uganda by Lauren Steele

Today I stopped by the roadside of a small village school. It was around 730am and all of the kids were walking down the red dirt road and across the large dried-up grass lawn to their brick school. I waved to a few little girls walking, and their mouths dropped. I asked our driver to pull over. He did. When I opened the car door the little girls shrieked and ran the opposite direction. 

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by Lauren Steele

I'm in a minivan

I'm in a minivan driving alongside the Turn Again Inlet looking at fog and clouds and day-breaking sun fight over the dominion that mountain peaks have not claimed.

And I'm smiling.

Because I am here and all of you are here with me. All of the laughs and tears and late night talks and morning coffees. It's all here with me.

A running tab on a cumulative life that I feel so fortunate to share.