alter (prefix, latin): at least, secondary; other.
aubade (noun, french): a poem or song written during dawn about love, separation, reflection, & the spaces in between.
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“…little ripples,
little moments. waves pressing the shore,
when wind is whispering in knotted
tendrils of my hair.
how sand coalesces in crevices
between toes…”
“…In plays and poems someone understands
there’s something makes us more than blood and bone
and more than biological demands…”
— Neil Gaiman
“the little things? the little moments?
they aren’t so little.”— John Zabat-Zinn
“there are some life-forces that remain constant:
…
4. the hush waves make on a blustery, cloud-filled morning. when the wind whips sand in my face, and in the crevices of my shorts, and in the stem-hole of an apple stored in my unzipped backpack, and in the cracks in my travel mug full of coffee, and in between where floss reaches my teeth.5. the way that no snowflake pattern is ever the exact same.
5a. in this same thinking, how cloud formations are not the same, but their molecules are specifically formed the same way.
6. my thoughts on you.
Crepitus, (noun; plural) \ˈkrep-ət-əs/ :
a grating or crackling sound or sensation. occurs generally when bone rubs against cartilage —
sometimes will happen when pieces of bone are fractured | split.
also occurs mainly at inopportune times, such as when one is
exercising,
stretching, or
when their mouth/hands/brain is otherwise occupied.
— a brief visitation, to a past poem.
“On the beach, at dawn:
four small stones clearly
hugging each other.How many kinds of love
might there be in the world,
and how many formations might they makeand who am I ever
to imagine I could know
such a marvelous business?”— Mary Oliver, On the Beach
“I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs to let you by… Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other. We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot, and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile at them and for them to smile back… We have so little of each other, now. So far from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange.”
— Danusha Laméris
“My time of the year, November. The month when I re-read books, leaf through papers, gather notes. It’s a kind of hunger for work, for activity, for taking up all the old tasks once again. And that damp organic smell in the morning when I go out — and the warm halos of lamplight in the evening when I return …”
—Mihail Sebastian