happy as a tumblweed

In the fractal calculus of relationships one finds in one’s life, at the point I find myself in at half a century of existence one sees patterns, motifs, tropes; a chorus repeated after verses of a song, the thing that one comes around to, declaring a core, resolved, truth.

Four denotes an organic wholeness—the directions; the winds; the elements; the seasons.

I did not know it for sure at the time, though I did feel it deeply enough, in my bones: when she died, a fork in my life’s arc appeared with baleful clarity—my path would lead this way, instead of that. It was a bifurcative modality which, when it came to the elements of being in a lifelong partnership, having children, raising a family, all of a sudden I was presented with the necessity of unorthodoxy … if I still wanted all that.

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