What Anchors You?

Part I.

What anchors you?
What gravity holds you right
there — is it a partner
child? job? score?
What anchors you
to this minute, day,
week, to the plan,
to the year, or
to your pillow?

What is your place
what keeps you there
what gets you
to next?

You can pull your anchor
in and push off, let it go
let yourself go, float
or fly or flee far
away. What keeps you?
What’s your anchor?

You maintain, you’re in
a moment, a happy
sad, uncertain, raging
one way or the other
for the most part
for best or for worst
for most of this day
or this moment you find
a steady that holds you
down or in or to
or tightly
to your anchor
but what is it?

What would you be
without it, who
designs it – failure?
Illness, epiphany?
Addiction or blessing?
Or is it the board meeting
at the day’s end that lays claim
to the architecture
of this day’s
anchor?
Or is it
you?

Pt. II – What Anchors Me

• 735 am. Sunday. No alarm. Awake and nesting with two soundly sleeping animals,  who, upon sensing that my eyes had opened, screamed (figuratively), “Mom’s awake! Mom’s awake!” and much hilarity ensued, and face licking.
• 740 am. The sunrise out my front window showed gray trees silhouetted against a soft pink skyline. The night’s rain left puddles that reflected the scarlet smear of Sedona in the distance. Good morning, Verde Valley.
• 750 am. Fed the critters and sighed into the small puff of steam coming off the fresh cup of coffee with just a tad of cream.
• 800 am. Anne Maramblings. Filled blank pages with more of the same in the shape of little black specks that danced across the space and back. Like birds. Chirp. Brilliant and boring at once.
• 900 am. Texted the girls to find out when we can talk. Both were available after lunch. Sundays.
• 930 am. Asked Alexa for Florence and the Machine. Loud. Finished yesterday’s laundry and danced from room to room. More coffee? Had a homemade scone, cinnamon and walnut.
• 1000 am. Needed to get higher, get up, climb somewhere, view the world from above. Too inside my head.
• 1030 am. Climbed atop Rocking Chair Hill, looked at the river valley, 360 degree uninterrupted view, including a tiny house community. All that subtle winter desert.

• 1100 am. Saw the big Catholic church in the distance. Empty parking lot. Mass over. Needed more perspective. Still too much in my head. Craved water and getting inside all of February’s color instead. Down the hill. To the lagoons. Prayed for clarity. Found it there.

1200 pm. Home and hungry. Made nachos: roasted turkey breast, goat milk brie, avocado. David Gray now, thank you, Alexa.
1220 pm. Talked to each girl who reported being alive and well. Both continuing their “100” projects. 100 self portraits for Riana. 100 one-second video clips for Bridget.
100 pm. Played with paper and wove winter’s palette into a pie lattice of pattern. One hundred little prayers.

Part III – Anchors

Don’t Go

White lines of winter
crisscross lagoons at high noon
palette whispers ‘Stay.’

Anchor Photo by jesse orrico on Unsplash/a>
Other photos by yours truly.