A road where all conversations meet

meeting you on the road, after descending, and slowly climbing back to life.

I've been mapping out the moon, sun, and stars all day. Circles and squares of time drawn by hand in an attempt to slow the speed of a crushing busy I sense is coming.

I take a bite of apple strudel and a sip of the second last cup of fresh tulsi tea that remains of the season. Inhaling phoenix oil, I am still damp from running back to the house in the late summer rain. My fingers smell of garlic and rosemary. There is a pot of soup on the stove. The street is already dry after the rain.

S/he asks me for our origin story, and I wonder if I will disappoint. Underworld stories are often ones we want to forget. S/he's been holding the cats all day, telling them their stories. One, a boot mark still on his back, rescued before a hurricane. Another, running away from men on the street, leaping into h/er arms.

S/he and I met in Hades. Already having descended, we took each other’s hands and slowly climbed our way back to life. Back to joy.

Now we travel: the road where foxes, eagles, oceans, lakes, Greek ruins, roads on the sides of mountains that have no business being roads, sunsets, peanut butter chocolate ice cream, and all the conversations meet.

And perhaps this is what I'm doing here, right now, with you—meeting you on the road, after descending, and slowly climbing back to life.