A year later. The season of Mom’s passing.

In the last few weeks I felt:

Mind sharp.
Spine spacious and vibrant. 
Fingertips light.

Slow tuning toward reclamation — tending, turning.

Letting go.

Letting in. 

Drove to town today — rolling fields, trees, and barns glimmered in the gloaming. 

— 11.22.2025

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From January 21, 2025

A message I sent to a friend (and to myself) / edited for privacy:

Waiting for the After

The time leading up to your mom’s death was disorienting – all the flying, all the knowing she was dying, all the grief.
And then the thing happens – that moment. It’s like a black hole, a ground zero –
after [the moment] is over –

time and reality are (still)
warped and weird. 

I’m figuring, things on the way to the moment were weird long before knowing they were weird —
it would make sense that on the way after “the moment”
things are going to [go on] being weird for longer than you might know.

Recalibrating gravitational pull takes time.
You are beginning.
One of the ways [you have begun] is by not getting on a damn plane!!

Maybe another way is staring off into space.
Maybe it’s being quiet.
Maybe it’s talking a lot. 

And maybe creative projects slow down, or maybe they fall away.
Or maybe they re-emerge when you are grounded and ready.
Or something new happens.

Creative people cannot not create.

Sometimes outward “productivity” can appear to stand still.
It’s ok.

Now is the time to tend to yourself and how you experience place, time, and space.

~ ~ ~ ~

January 21, 2025
Hudson Valley, New York

My mom died October 2nd, 2024, Libra Solar Eclipse. I took this picture of her Spring, 2024. She loved having her picture taken.

image: misty doorway © Holly Troy 12.2024

image: mom being her impish self © Holly Troy 2024