Rings in the Desert

There was a ring

in the desert but

no bells

nearby.

The humble

Junipers, majestic

as they watched

Two people cry.

Together they cried,

together, about and for

Things that were not

new, yet, somehow

were—pristine

with rough

edges.

You see, they

each carried

Rocks.

Rocks to be

Tumbled,

of course.

Didn’t you hear?

That tumbling, that

Polishing—that

these are the

Purposes

Of Union.


*So this happened yesterday. I mean, can you believe the nerve?

That my partner of lifetimes already would ask me to take them to my most sacred spot in this area of the world, first of all, and then would have the gall to ask me to marry them??

On my birthday?!

Anyways, the ring’s on my finger so I guess that means we’re more formally cementing that commitment that was already true.

And I’m so grateful.


And I’ve learned that I’m *that* bitch that subtly but not so subtly shows off her ring.


Gah, the things you learn about yourself.

The ridiculousness never ends, I swear.

So, there it is. Here I am. Here we go.

What’s different? Honestly? Nothing. And everything. You know what I mean. Ritual and intention does that to a life.