April can never make up its mind.
Backed by the uncertainty of weather, I think of options, what elses, the looming future. When can I plant outside? Where will I be next year? I comb job listings, fully aware the years of applying for a full-time steady-income job are beyond me. I’m decades beyond thirty. I have a full-time job. My full-time job is supplemented by part-time teaching to add structure to my days. My full-time job is making coffee for myself, and catching ideas from the air. My full-time job is wandering around my apartment, gazing out the windows, moving a chair there, moving a comma here.
I chanced on a blog site devoted to the sea called The Scuttlefish because I was looking for a poem by Neruda where he chants, the sea! the sea! I found this poem instead.
It is Born
Here I came to the very edge
where nothing at all needs saying,
everything is absorbed through weather and the sea,
and the moon swam back.
its rays all silvered,
and time and time again, the darkness would be broken
by the crash of a wave,
and every day on the balcony of the sea,
wings open, fire is born,
and everything is blue again like morning.
—On the Blue Shore of Silence: Poems of the Sea, Pablo Neruda, trans by Alastair Reid