मोविंग Moving In & On

Been hipshot, off balance, skewed and skewered for so long that I've become accustomed to it. I forgot to remember where my produce grew, where my sustenance sprouted, where the mushrooms erupted from the earth (truffles being a product of the Earth's orgasm). And now...

Now I'm moving in.

That term, 'moving in,' has acquired so many nuanced layers recently: embarking on a nesting with an Otter outta the Mississippi River, outta Baton Rouge; moving into a markedly different phase of life, rife with all the possibilities I've aligned in my Cassandra sight/saint's light; moving to New Orleans, come December; moving to new rhythms, or moving newly to the old; moving into my new skin, shiny and smooth beneath my molting layers. Moving,

Yeah. Moving...

Got this shift change happening, see. Can feel the Old Guard slumping at the mouth of the Ice Caves, and lo, this burgeouning Southern heat is melting down the walls, dropping stalagtites like swords, and I am on the run, bolting into Recrudescence.

I am anxious. Ravenous. Though I'm nowhere near ready, I want the high-speed journeying now, now, now. Key West is a boon become a burden that my shoulders ache to slough, and the laying down is just around the corner. The laying down and taking up and multiplying magnificence by massive magnitudes and oh, Atlas, --O, Atlas!-- your little sister is not leaving you so much as running ahead to clear your path down the Mississippi's steep and muddy banks, to secure your ferry across the Algonquin's Big River. I'm movin in, brother, into my sea-mammal Papi, movin on to my real life's work, and I have never felt more sane or more at home.