a moon, worn as if it had been a shell

King Solomon writing Ecclesiastes

I read, with gratitude, all the comments on my post from last night, my falling apart post that barely skims the surface and I wanted you to know that I will be all right and that down deep, where it counts, is my belief that nothing stays the same and everything changes and there is nothing new under the sun. These three things floated through my mind this morning as I drove Sophie to school and listened to her humming and moaning and wondered as always whether she was happy or uncomfortable whether her stomach was hurting from the drug whether she had a headache or a presentiment of a seizure but wondering is the best I can do and it has to be enough. Those three things, that nothing stays the same and everything changes and there is nothing new under the sun floated by my mind's eye like fish, silent and swift and sure despite the murk, knowing that where there is light there is food. I saw Dr. Jin yesterday for the first time in months, the needles hurt like the dickens which I imagine is good and then she gave me two little bottles of pills and a bag of fresh figs from her garden and sent me on my way, dazed. These three things rounded their way through the other muck, insistent and sure that there will always be Young College Republicans having racist bake sales and always be those who push their morality upon one, and there will always be mornings of fog that brighten and shatter like glass into sunshine. The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.