We are waiting for a storm. The winds are high and warm, all the spring birds sing a frantic chirrup as if playing chase in the voice of little girls. Then it quiets, cars are missing from the streets, the clouds still hold their spongy fill. Our small magnolia, always last to bloom in a town of flowered trees, pokes its tiny, scruff-covered tufts upward hungry for the season.

Spring storms, I need them.

It occurred to me recently how much I love coffee–the full-bodied smell penetrating the impenetrable morning, a hot cup teasing my palms, ritual percolating in my earliest memories. More than chocolate, I love coffee.

There are other things too that I can state with absolute certainty, that above all else, they bring me total and complete joy. Unequivocal joy.

Do you remember the light off wet pavement in July after dinner when the gray of the sky matched your fork and your spoon, and the rain finally stopped, and the clouds unzipped, and the sun sneaked out, and you stomped in fits?

Me too.

There is a twang and vibration, an hallucinatory pachinko, that occurs when one’s mood is matched perfectly to a piece of music. On my worst days, I dance like an idiot hopping foot to foot, windmills for arms, unbinding the knotted kinks in my soul. On my best days, I do the same, an unbridled wallop of a dance holding hands with my daughters or bouncing them on my hip. We are free. We are free. We are free.

We are we sitting on the couch in a great human lump reading stories from picture books with bellies full of Saturday pancakes while the sun is sunning or the rain is raining and Mama and Daddy remember, or forget, that responsibilities are what get us to our real life.

And there are the letters arranged to words, the heartbeats of sparrows, clinked one after another after another. Acute pinpricks, a stippling of language, stroke by stroke until the last.

Tell me, what is unequivocal?


About E. Victoria Flynn

E. Victoria Flynn is a mother and a writer living in Southern Wisconsin. Published in a variety of venues, Victoria is currently writing the first in a series of three fantasy novels based on Cornish folklore. When not taking part in a shrieking dance party or engrossed in her own little fictions, Victoria is keen on art, the natural world and people unafraid to explore their own brilliance.
This entry was posted in coffee, Dance, kids, music, Self-Reliance, truth, wildness. Bookmark the permalink.

13 Responses to Unequivocal

  1. Sweepy Jean says:

    I’m pretty sure April is the cruelest month, closely followed by August. Nice post, Victoria!

  2. Lisa says:

    Wow, Victoria, this is beautiful. I am taken away by your descriptions. My poetic mind has been dry lately. I will have to think of what is unequivocal to me.
    Miss you,

  3. Lisa says:

    This is so very lovely, Victoria. You affirm life with your words.

  4. Thank you for gracing me with beautiful words and pictures today. Loved this. 🙂

  5. Pam Parker says:

    Such beautiful writing in this post — thank you!

  6. Rose says:

    Those little moments are the best. They are the unequivocal ones – that morning cup of coffee, the way my children smell with their strawberry shampoo’d hair, catching that flash of pink and purple before the sunset disappears, belly laughs, and picking out the perfect birthday cake. Happiness is Saturday morning pancakes. Thanks for the sweet moments in this post.

  7. REscarcega says:

    I love your writing… It does the job (paints vibrant colored pictures in my head).

    unequivocal moments? The twinkle in the eyes of my kids that lead to smiles and finally to laughs when daddy makes a funny (and I don’t mean gas). 🙂


    “hallucinatory pachinko” = Great pull!… And a great band name. I’d see them.

    • pennyjars says:

      Thanks, Ricardo. There’s so much to be said about kids in hysterics–one of my favorite sounds. Hallucinatory pachinko–You’re right, could be a great band name 😉

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