Be ready when the luck happens

The Santa Ana wind affects everything. No one tells you this. Or maybe it is that they do, but it can only be heard and felt by the knowing. The sweeping. I shiver on the walk to work and hear that the rings of Saturn are dissolving. He tells me of a dream about a world where everyone used their time as currency and one is in debt in the afterlife if they choose to.

We toil.

I read an argument of furiously typed words on a local Facebook thread. A puff-up of heroism in the name of waking up. To what though, I don’t think I am yet sure. A poet I like writes of remembering curiosity. I sink into that, willfully understanding my nature as I read Paul Auster’s Baumgartner, and purchase Ina Garten’s new memoir titled,“Be Ready When the Luck Happens.”

The beginning of something is hard to see. I am reminded of all of the beginnings that disguised themselves. There is a current of tragedy all around. In hospital TV, in the news, in the chatters. I am reminded of those weeks spent with my brother in that south Florida glimmering ICU.

The dichotomy of sunlight and salt tears.

An old couple I greet warmly each time tell me of a new astrophysicist writing about black holes. I ask them what happens to a body if they go through one. The wife, an astronomer, tells me that they are spaggettified. A scientific term, she assures me. “But maybe not? We don’t really know. Maybe they just travel back in time.” The husband, a neuroscientist, tells me that I could write short, happy poetry for these times. That he would read them. Shortles, he names them. Small bits that may even provide a small chuckle. Forever leaning into curiosity.

Friends are reaching out and community is building a safety raft around the heart of our dreams, goals; the plans we all invest into. There is so much to look toward if you can brace the winds.

My dog and I pass a woman walking hers in the neighborhood. I say hello but she doesn’t seem to hear me through the cold night, bundled into her expression and hooded puffy coat. Around the corner, we pass by each other again. This time she calls out to me. “I’m so sorry that I didn’t register that you said hello! I was stuck in my own head! This is my shy girl. She is blind in one eye and was badly abused so she’s a bit scared. Your dog is so beautiful. I just wanted to say hi back!”

I know that to be optimistic is to be wise. Even now. Especially now. We toil in the currency.