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Changing

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-Photo taken in the Brooklyn Botanical gardens. Dried Ginkgo leaves that made it through the winter and freshly fallen petals.

It’s a cliche to talk about change in terms of seasons, so I won’t. Let it be said that I’ve been traveling for a long time. I moved away from home for the first time in the first year of the millennium. I was 11. My mother painted a trunk for me. She bought me a cassette player, because I’d have to sleep without a bed time story. Since then I’ve lived on three continents. I’ve lived alone and with roommates. One year, I followed the winter as I moved. That year, I never saw summer. I should be used to this, but I’m not.

The Rumpus recently posted this Merwin poem:

Separation 
 
Your absence has gone through me   
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.
 
I’m trying to be grateful for all the many colored absences running through my life.
 
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