: Narcissa-Christine: Lyons.

[I have not dared to nod my head or tip my hat for a while, not for lack of wishing to, but for other ties that bind and pull.  More immediate, less frivolous, and for me to use the word frivolous anywhere near the word writing is almighty insane.  Looking in the doorway of this blog I can see it is dusty, creaky.  If my site could make a sound it would be that of stepping on attic floorboards in the heat of summer, not an unpleasant sound, but weighty in meaning.  The things that are housed in an attic, the relics of past existences, lost hopes and dreams realized.  And some things just forgotten and destined to remain so.

But I can’t afford to be romantic in this conveyance, since you all realize it’s been a very weird couple of years. I have been busy absorbing, deciphering, and, in the end, understanding why I was born, a startlingly late observation given the grays on my head, but no less stunning because of it.  I will talk about that one day, maybe the next article or the one after that, but today’s writing is more to do with spreading awareness on our ever changing, milking skies.  What it means.  What falls from it.  Why it is no longer wise to look up during a warm summer pour with open mouthed joy. Continue reading →