starlight sunlight

some arting

His little hands were covered in gold stars. One at first. Then another. Then too many to count properly.

Why a star?
Why gold?

Questions that loosen the screws in an adulthood on autopilot. So instead of answering, I kept pressing stars onto him. Along his fingers. Across his palms. His small serious hands turning slowly in the light. Every movement awoke a flicker. Gold skipping over skin. Light winking at sky. Gold shimmering in the air between us.

He stared at them like we had done something impossible.

“Hey mama! Are we arting?”

We are! We are arting and it feels like magic.

---

Side notes:

We are back from our short trip to Italy and the UK and while my family seem to have folded themselves neatly back into the time difference, I am still wandering around inside jet lag. Waking at strange hours. Feeling a bit ghosted from myself during the day.

But my sleeplessness always leaves something interesting on the table. In the early hours, while the house is quiet and the dark unfinished, I’ve been filling notebooks with fragments and notes for this space. Small sparks. Strange little doors.

So expect a cascade of stories and observations over the next few days.

It is good to be back. I’ve missed this corner of the internet and I’m really looking forward to hearing from you all.