Sunday, December 24, 2017

Slow Time Views

I woke up this morning to the most beautiful view.

To the Northwest, the love of my life sleeping next to me.

To the East, the sun rising through thin slits of clouds.

To the South, beautiful formations of ancient rocks jutting up from the Earth like Castles in the Sky.

They were banded by green and red and orange and brown.

At their tops, ancient forests lie untouched, beyond the reach of but the boldest man.

To open my door to this marvelous scene feels at once a privilege and a right.

I suck up fresh air, hoping to store it in my cells for the return home.


Disintegrating pink ribbons streak the air.

Twisting cliffs are draped in a translucent purple.

A hazy indigo is spraying on the horizon.

Puffs of peach foreshadow the last hurrah.

A dark purple cotton candy blimp meanders through the sky.

I let myself be wrapped in the white icy breath of the wind.

This marvelous transformation has flooded my senses.

There is no space for feeling when your eyes are stuffed with inspiration.

The last of the day's tail fades out as I pull my bag tight.

Feminine Fullness

Blinding tunnel of pummeling light.

It was almost pitch black and now I see fine.

What tremendous grandeur and feminine might.

It strikes me like a star on the big stage.

I feel safe among this wonderous siren.

I relax my eyes and hoist her to the top of the sky.

Lucky me

There is an endless silence and a demanding sky.

Portals of angry light come hushed by cool smooth floating grey waters.

Ever happily late, the final dopey blue splashes of day skip across the sky.

The last beams of bright white light search just above the horizon like spotlights.

Soon the rainbow alliance will be parted by the deep blue black of the night.

I sit awaiting that last flash dance, wondering which flare orange will choose today.

As the dark clouds pile in they slowly crowd out the remaining day's heat.

I glance back at the greatest thing in my life and realize it's time for us to bundle up.

Thursday, December 14, 2017

No One Else's

It doesn't matter her age, your mother always fills a special place in your heart.

It doesn't matter how long you've been there, home is the place you can safely rest.

Each relationship is unique.

People try to filter your experience by placing their own personal asterisk on it, but your feelings are something only you can place.

Thursday, May 25, 2017

Catting Soul

When I take time to pet it, joy resonates.

Rough rushed petting bites me back.

Ignoring completely and get slapped plus woken up in the night.

The other option is to be playful and present, passionately parasympathetic and pass the night peacefully. Rrrrright.

Easy choice

Thursday, April 6, 2017

Bored to Life

It's quite timid.

Too much noise and it will run and hide.

It won't come out until you are indistinguishable from a statue.

It's an amazing hider. Don't waste time looking for it.

It will come to you.

Try passing the time watching the clouds, a tree, a loved one or maybe just paint drying.

You'll be happy you did.

Firm Feet Finish First

Love is the steamroller on the long road to resiliency.

Stop and feel the warmth rise up through your feet.

When the stars take the night off, use love's warmth as your compass.

Lean in until you're uncomfortably hot.

Sweat out yesterday's struggles.

Feel it caress your skin like a warm campfire.

You are there.

Tuesday, February 28, 2017

We are but flies

Too old to rush to judgement

Their quiet stillness speaks of unimaginable wisdom.

When you walk among them you are walking on them and in them and below them, your energy grounding in their elderly wisdom.

Open your palm to them and share a piece of peace.

Let their stillness cool your internal waters.

You are safe here with these giants, for you will only find them where you also find life and water.

Take time to learn how to meet your own needs.

What you learn from them is a place you can go again if you are still enough.

The life below you has the suppleness of thousands of years of work, gently aerated like an ancient sponge.

With each step you squeeze air out and compact away a decade of work, yet it still feels open and airy on the most trodden paths, almost drumming with each step.

Imagine what lush powdery ground must lay beyond your vision.

The birds must sink into it like quicksand.

It begins with a  fountain of atoms being sucked up a long straw by the original maglev.

It's fed through a web of fungus permeating the tree's feet.

The tree pays them off with sugar taken from the sky and dropped to the floor like sediment in a glass of water.

To cool off the trees sweat out Hs and Os and when the leaf is no longer of benefit they litter it to the ground to feed back into their fungal web and maglev cycle.

We could learn so much from their simple loop.


They were kidnapped from their homes in the name of religion and brought against their wills to a hot foreign desert.

They were living a peaceful life in the forest, relaxing all day by the riverside. Their home was a perfect fit for them and gave them everything they needed. It seemed like a thousand years could pass by without any illness in their family.

They loved to drink. They are a large race, but it's still hard to believe how they can drink.

In this new land the desert heat made them perspire heavily. But when they got thirsty and reached out to find more water, they found their feet bound in cement shoes. What's more, in their home they used to have neighbors with whom they traded sugar for drinks and food, but this new land was sterile and dead and they had no such friends.

Finally, when the sun and heat had burned them into ugliness, their religious owners called a doctor. But it was too late. They should have never been brought to the desert.

Before they were even dead the next generation had been taken from their homes and brought to the chapel as replacements.

The doctor tried to convince the minister that this giant race should be left in their homes to thrive. He explained that they aren't made for the desert, particularly if they have no friends to share with and their feet are in cement boxes.

But the minister was blinded by religion. He said it was those trees who gave a famous architect his inspiration for their chapel and it was those giants that he was going to have for his collection.

The doctor left and the staff prepared the graves for the young trees and hastily planted them as replacements for their elders.