She waded out into the sea and stood
the lulling waves rocked her gently comforting her
The sun warmed her
the earth held her
but yet still the tears came
Her heart was open and full of this sadness
Where it came from she did not know
How to get it to go she did not know
Next to her a woman stood
"knee deep in the blue are ye?"
"What?" she asked
"knee deep in the blue" the woman answered and slid her arm around her shoulder. "Dear one we are women, we hold within us many mysteries and many lives. We are more spiritually aware then our counter parts. Our hearts hold the hopes and dreams of ourselves and our children born and unborn. We by nature stand knee deep in the blue."
She waited for the woman to continue.
"Sometimes when we are happy and things are going well and our wings unfold and we are getting ready to fly, we step into the blue....its like a rain shower of tears that sprinkles down and washes sadness into our hearts."
"But where does it come from? It caught me out of the blue..." she paused herself mid thought, it suddenly making sense, "Out of the blue...into me....so its some cosmic sadness that I am tapping into?"
"you are tapping into you. You are healing and growing and feeling a special feeling one that most people shrugg off or medicate away. You are feeling life. That some days you step into the blue and life is so beautiful and special it takes your breath away and leaves tears in your heart. You cry tears for the times you couldn't see the gift you have and for those are not yet where you are. Your feeling the emotion of healing."
"well it s a bit unnerving" she replied, "makes me feel like something is wrong."
The woman gave her shoulder a squeeze, "you will get used to it. Soon you will recognize this feeling for what it is...peace, love and compassion all rolled up into one....soon you will learn how to let it out in the form other than tears. It will not hurt you, you just have never been this deep in the blue before." she let go and dove under the sea and swam away.
the lulling waves rocked her gently comforting her
The sun warmed her
the earth held her
but yet still the tears came
She had just thought it was sadness in her heart...know she knew
It was the blue
and it would not drag her down, but lift her up, and connect her to all that was true.
(c) Oct 17, 2007
Monday, January 14, 2013
Sunday, January 13, 2013
Fragile flower
It was a nodding-gunna-fall asleep spring day
when he first saw her.
A fragile flower
pale and weak
slightly crushed petals.
Her beauty was
not her condition
but what he saw
deeper
the quiet dignity
and grace
that had not been killed
by the feet that tramped her.
She had a defiant stance to her
crooked stalk
even though her face was hidden
and lowered to the earth
He wanted to go over and lay by her
smell her scent
and turn her delicate face to the sun
That's when he twisted and heard the mortar shell
whistle
he flung himself to the left
his rifle painfully crushing
his side and he rolled over it
Dazed he looked around
there had never been shelling in this field before
Here he had always
relaxed and let his guard down
The war had invaded his serenity
His training took over
But it didn't help
He stood and ran to the wall to jump it
but a landmine
tossed him off course
He struggled to regain his composure
checked for wounds
His ears still screaming
The dusty haze began to settle in spots
and though it all he saw her
the fragile flower
untouched
seemingly oblivious the the madness
about her
He smiled at her strength
her ability to live
day in and day out
amongst the chaos
He was falling in love with this little blossom
She gave him something
inside
something he couldn't describe
The planes did to quick strafing runs
across the field
there zigzag pattern
failed to find him
The nonsensical madness
of finding himself alone in this
battle made him call out
"I will protect you my dear!"
and he started towards her
The razor wire he didn't see
his skin felt it first
its anger slashes
halting his advances
Defeated he laid face down it the dirt
his bloodshot eyes weary
started to droop
that's when he saw the space under the wire
just big enough for his arm
he reached under and for her
he was just close enough to lay his open hand into her shadow
For a long time he laid there
hand extended to her
Sometimes the wind blew her away from him
her face turned away
sometimes she leaned closer
almost touching his hand
almost
The war raged on and on
He waited patiently
"I am not going anywhere" he would murmur in his sleep
"I am here for you"
That morning he felt moisture dripping
into his hand
dew forming on her was gathering into crystal tears and weeping into his hand
The wire was gone and the shelling had moved off over the next hill
but still he didn't move
The sun awoke the valley
and laid a warm blanket over
his aching body
He opened his eyes and caught a glimpse
of a magical sight
the fragile flower was looking at him
he smiled
Loving a fragile flower is hard indeed
The temptation was to grab her and sweep her up to safety
but instead he adjusted himself
and extended his other hand to her
She trembled in the breeze
seemingly thinking about
the hands near her
he waited
and before long she leaned into his embrace
He steady her but did not hold her
In this safety she blossomed
into a precious flower who's beauty
took his breath away.
thend
(c) 1-18-2006
when he first saw her.
A fragile flower
pale and weak
slightly crushed petals.
Her beauty was
not her condition
but what he saw
deeper
the quiet dignity
and grace
that had not been killed
by the feet that tramped her.
She had a defiant stance to her
crooked stalk
even though her face was hidden
and lowered to the earth
He wanted to go over and lay by her
smell her scent
and turn her delicate face to the sun
That's when he twisted and heard the mortar shell
whistle
he flung himself to the left
his rifle painfully crushing
his side and he rolled over it
Dazed he looked around
there had never been shelling in this field before
Here he had always
relaxed and let his guard down
The war had invaded his serenity
His training took over
But it didn't help
He stood and ran to the wall to jump it
but a landmine
tossed him off course
He struggled to regain his composure
checked for wounds
His ears still screaming
The dusty haze began to settle in spots
and though it all he saw her
the fragile flower
untouched
seemingly oblivious the the madness
about her
He smiled at her strength
her ability to live
day in and day out
amongst the chaos
He was falling in love with this little blossom
She gave him something
inside
something he couldn't describe
The planes did to quick strafing runs
across the field
there zigzag pattern
failed to find him
The nonsensical madness
of finding himself alone in this
battle made him call out
"I will protect you my dear!"
and he started towards her
The razor wire he didn't see
his skin felt it first
its anger slashes
halting his advances
Defeated he laid face down it the dirt
his bloodshot eyes weary
started to droop
that's when he saw the space under the wire
just big enough for his arm
he reached under and for her
he was just close enough to lay his open hand into her shadow
For a long time he laid there
hand extended to her
Sometimes the wind blew her away from him
her face turned away
sometimes she leaned closer
almost touching his hand
almost
The war raged on and on
He waited patiently
"I am not going anywhere" he would murmur in his sleep
"I am here for you"
That morning he felt moisture dripping
into his hand
dew forming on her was gathering into crystal tears and weeping into his hand
The wire was gone and the shelling had moved off over the next hill
but still he didn't move
The sun awoke the valley
and laid a warm blanket over
his aching body
He opened his eyes and caught a glimpse
of a magical sight
the fragile flower was looking at him
he smiled
Loving a fragile flower is hard indeed
The temptation was to grab her and sweep her up to safety
but instead he adjusted himself
and extended his other hand to her
She trembled in the breeze
seemingly thinking about
the hands near her
he waited
and before long she leaned into his embrace
He steady her but did not hold her
In this safety she blossomed
into a precious flower who's beauty
took his breath away.
thend
(c) 1-18-2006
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Attic Chairs
Up in the attic she climbed one day.
Shoulder to the door she grunted and pressed.
The hinges groaned and moaned.
The dusty door swooned in.
Hidden inside were a herd of old chairs.
All broken and bent.
She carried them down two at a time.
To the bright lights of the dining room.
Her trips numbered past twenty before she was done.
She was a sight, with her hair covered with a kercheif of cobwebs.
The chimes rang on the back door as her brother came in.
"Oh goodness, let me get the truck to haul this trash away for you."
She looked at him from over her glasses as she brushed the web from her hair. "who said, it had to hold someone, maybe it is meant to dump a smart arse on their arse."
He took the hint and left her to her work.
She sang as she warmed the water and began washing the chairs.
She sang ancient mermaid songs she learned in her dreams.
As her hands passed over the wood she got to know each chairs
strengths and weakness.
She spoke to each chair as she gently wash and rinsed it.
"Together we will find out where you belong."
"Look here," she smiled, as her fingers danced over a prickly spot on the great oak chair. "Puppy teething I imagine."
She shook her head at the thought of someone tossing out this majestic chair over such a small thing.
"Don't worry, she consoled the chair, "You are not being discriminated against, people treat other people with the same callous disregard too."
When at last the chairs were washed she set them in a giant circle to dry.
With rolled up sleeves she set about rubbing oil into each chair.
The work was long and tiresome but she didn't mind, it filled her mind with purpose. One by one the chairs began to sing.
The wood glowed and the grain patterns stood out like lightning against a black sky.
The scars in the wood told many tales.
There was gum under the seats and few cryptic messages scrawled here and there.
She listened to it all.
All of it, even the dark stories they had to tell.
Once oiled she carried them outside, two by two.
Her trips numbered past twenty before she was done.
She arranged them in a serpentine pattern on the rich green grass.
It had been years and years since the chairs had last seen the bright sun.
My what a sight to see they were!
She smiled and walked around and around them as if playing musical chairs.
Her mother called from the window, interrupting her dance.
"If you are done messing with that useless junk I need you to do some real work."
She halted stunned, slapped by her words.
The music in her heart skipped a beat and stopped.
Her shoulders slumped.
She looked at her reflection in the polished dark wood.
Such beauty there in the wood, if only her mom could see.
"Pile that rubbish by the shed so Dad can haul it away" Mom said disappearing back into the house.
Her trips numbered past twenty before she was done.
When at last she was done she returned inside.
She sat at the table and waited for her life to happen to her.
She didn't have to wait long.
It all happened at once. Brother sat down to join her
and the chair pitched and bucked and he flew to the floor.
Dad opened the paper and leaned back to flop into his easy-chair,
only to do a somersault over the small broken chair there.
Mother screamed as she sat on the vanity chair and the sharp splintery wood gouged a divot in her backside.
She smiled and got up. "I am tired of being invisible in this house! In this life! My family treats me furniture I think you will toss me out when I am broken and scarred."
They gathered and took note the good kitchen chairs were all gone, replaced with the attic chairs.
"Family I need to know you love me, need to know you understand the complexities of my head." She sobbed. "Stop raising me, I am grown. I am way past childhood, I need to know more. I need to know you love me." She echoed.
There was deafening silence.
"How do we do that?" Asked Mom. "I tell you I love you all the time."
Slowly her family sat in the freshly washed chairs and rested their hands on the table.
"I feel like an orphan in my own family. We are all strangers here. We are polite and pleasant, and speak to each others surface, DARN IT! SPEAK TO ME, the me inside, the me who is struggling and grappling with these emotions. Stop being pleasant and start being real. You can show me you love me by opening your heart and listening to me. Just listen. Make and effort to get to know me. Find out about my hopes and fears. I need to feel needed, and accepted for who I am, not who you want me to be."
She waited for an answer.
It wasn't the answer she was wanting.
Mom stood up and screeched "WHAT IS MY GOOD FURNITURE DOING IN THE RUBBISH PILE!"
Dad eyed her. "So what is for dinner? Your cooking tonight arn't you?"
Brother grabbed his jacket and bailed out the door.
She stood there frozen. Had she not spoken aloud? "PEOPLE, did you not hear me?!"
"Quite being so dramatic. Life isn't about you." Said her mom, as she headed out to rescue her furniture.
She sat gently down upon the old chair. "I feel like a chair. I feel like I was once a mighty tree that was fell, My good parts cut away and sold, the inferior parts bent and twisted and forced to conform to a pattern, just to please the consumer...as long as I am useful and pretty I am taken care of. Once I change and develop my own characteristics, I am sold or toss out. We are not a family...we are a matched set of furniture."
Dad puts his hand across the table and takes her.
She smiles glad she finally got through.
He presses a 50 dollar bill in her hand, "If you arn't cooking then order pizza"
Her trips numbered past twenty before she was done.
She and the chairs simply just vanished.
Like a ghost she haunted the house.
No one saw her, and no one noticed she was missing.
It ate holes in her heart that no one cared.
When she came of age she simply stepped out one day,
not really knowing where she was going.
Like a long caged bird she just saw the open door and flew.
Her family didn't even wave goodbye.
It was months later that her family spoke of her.
Dad simply mentioned one night "I see she finally got rid of all
those trashy chairs in the attic."
After that she faded from their memories.
Her age numbered past twenty before she was done wandering about. She found a high fortress and barricaded herself in behind a wall of old chairs. She let the chairs get dusty and the rich wood dry out and splinter. It was a formidable fence and no one dared climb it.
The loneliness was profoundly painful.
Sometimes she cut her skin just
to see if she was in.
Sure she worked with people and rode the bus with people,
shopped at stores with people, but no one really saw her.
They just saw her image, just like her family did.
Sure she had friends, but she kept them all at a distance and outside of her chair wall.
The darkness every night amplified the pain.
"I just want someone to need me" she told the chairs. "I know I do not belong to that family, but darn it, I want to belong somewhere."
She grew and ventured out and started therapy. Having someone validate her feelings was a powerful healing step.
"I want my family to come after me!" she sobbed one session.
"I want them to make the effort to contact me and be a part of my life."
Her Therapist stared her down. "can I tell you a secret?"
She dried her eyes intrigued at the sound of this. "sure"
"One isn't born into a family. One chooses a family."
She pondered this for a moment.
Her Therapist continued. "Your mom and dad found each other and hooked up and created a love seat. They then gave birth to a lazy boy-recliner and a carved cherry-wood elegant 16th century sit-upon. There is no room in any house for that mix and match furniture. You need to find the rest of the set you belong to. Quit trying to fit in there."
"Are you saying that all my wants and needs will never be met by my birth family?"
Her Therapist nodded gently. "what you wish your mom would give you, you will not get from her, but from someone else."
"Is this the way it is for everyone?"
"It is the way for far too many of us." frowned the Therapist.
She found as the years past and she grew and healed, that as the pain lessens she was able to remove some of the protecting chairs from her walls.
No they were not abandoned, but as she extended trust to another they were gifted with a chair. They took the chair as a precious gem and honored the meaning behind it.
Oh on occasion she trusted and gave a chair, only to have the receiver smash and shatter the delicateness of the beauty. But she learned and didn't shut down, just moved on and tried again.
Till at last she sat with only a few chairs between her and world.
She combed her hair and drew it back and once again
as she had long ago
set out and washed the chairs,
dried them,
singing ancient mermaid songs she learned in her dreams.
She oiled them and carried them out to dry in the sun.
she laid in the grass and marveled at the sheer beauty of her attic chairs. The light of the sun warmed her skin.
But it also revealed the scars.
She was no different than the scarred chairs who surrounded her.
They were all waiting silently for someone to bring them home.
She smiled. Really smiled. Realizing for the first time. She was at peace within herself.
She heard Therapist's words echoing in her heart. "It is the way for far too many of us."
"I will fix that." she said aloud to the chairs, her heart aching with compassion. "if we are all looking for our family, If we are all drifting in this sea of loneliness, and disconnectedness, then I will fix it."
She offered a chair to all she met.
a place to sit
a moment of her time.
an ear to listen,
a hand to hold.
She simply treated all she met and in countered as if they
were family.
Her heart began to lighten and see the simple beauty in all she met.
Some were her family for only a moment.
The sad little girl with the hungry eyes in the grocery store she smiled at.
The tried old man on the bus she sat next to and listed to a a few blocks.
The exhausted mother in line at the grocery store she spoke to.
By giving she received. By being willing to risk she gained. She began to collect treasure more valuable than any tangible item on earth. She was collecting moments with other.
He came on day and stared for a long time at her chairs. "I see one I must have" he said to her.
He weaved through the chairs and took her into his arms.
"I need this one to complete my set." he said
She was frightened for a moment, "but I am scarred and I have rough edges and...and ..."
"And," he finished for her, "you are afraid of the unknown."
"yes"
He turned and gestured behind him. She peered over his broad shoulder.
He had is own pile of attic chairs too.
"the way I see it," he gently smiled, "is that you are coming home."
She was no longer afraid. He was choosing her, and she choose him.
Their trips numbered past twenty before they were done.
Then they took one trip down an isle.
Their house was filled with many attic chairs
all polished and shining
and there never was a lack of souls to sit upon them and share the
journey of life with them.
Thend
Shoulder to the door she grunted and pressed.
The hinges groaned and moaned.
The dusty door swooned in.
Hidden inside were a herd of old chairs.
All broken and bent.
She carried them down two at a time.
To the bright lights of the dining room.
Her trips numbered past twenty before she was done.
She was a sight, with her hair covered with a kercheif of cobwebs.
The chimes rang on the back door as her brother came in.
"Oh goodness, let me get the truck to haul this trash away for you."
She waved brother away, never taking her eyes off the chairs.
"There is no junk in here, only hurt souls. You must look past the chipped and scarred surface to see the beauty of the grain underneath."
"There is no junk in here, only hurt souls. You must look past the chipped and scarred surface to see the beauty of the grain underneath."
Brother pressed a chair and it squealed under his touch swaying dangerously. "This one is no good, will never hold anyone."
She looked at him from over her glasses as she brushed the web from her hair. "who said, it had to hold someone, maybe it is meant to dump a smart arse on their arse."
He took the hint and left her to her work.
She sang as she warmed the water and began washing the chairs.
She sang ancient mermaid songs she learned in her dreams.
As her hands passed over the wood she got to know each chairs
strengths and weakness.
She spoke to each chair as she gently wash and rinsed it.
"Together we will find out where you belong."
"Look here," she smiled, as her fingers danced over a prickly spot on the great oak chair. "Puppy teething I imagine."
She shook her head at the thought of someone tossing out this majestic chair over such a small thing.
"Don't worry, she consoled the chair, "You are not being discriminated against, people treat other people with the same callous disregard too."
When at last the chairs were washed she set them in a giant circle to dry.
With rolled up sleeves she set about rubbing oil into each chair.
The work was long and tiresome but she didn't mind, it filled her mind with purpose. One by one the chairs began to sing.
The wood glowed and the grain patterns stood out like lightning against a black sky.
The scars in the wood told many tales.
There was gum under the seats and few cryptic messages scrawled here and there.
She listened to it all.
All of it, even the dark stories they had to tell.
Once oiled she carried them outside, two by two.
Her trips numbered past twenty before she was done.
She arranged them in a serpentine pattern on the rich green grass.
It had been years and years since the chairs had last seen the bright sun.
My what a sight to see they were!
She smiled and walked around and around them as if playing musical chairs.
Her mother called from the window, interrupting her dance.
"If you are done messing with that useless junk I need you to do some real work."
She halted stunned, slapped by her words.
The music in her heart skipped a beat and stopped.
Her shoulders slumped.
She looked at her reflection in the polished dark wood.
Such beauty there in the wood, if only her mom could see.
"Pile that rubbish by the shed so Dad can haul it away" Mom said disappearing back into the house.
Her trips numbered past twenty before she was done.
When at last she was done she returned inside.
She sat at the table and waited for her life to happen to her.
She didn't have to wait long.
It all happened at once. Brother sat down to join her
and the chair pitched and bucked and he flew to the floor.
Dad opened the paper and leaned back to flop into his easy-chair,
only to do a somersault over the small broken chair there.
Mother screamed as she sat on the vanity chair and the sharp splintery wood gouged a divot in her backside.
She smiled and got up. "I am tired of being invisible in this house! In this life! My family treats me furniture I think you will toss me out when I am broken and scarred."
They gathered and took note the good kitchen chairs were all gone, replaced with the attic chairs.
"Family I need to know you love me, need to know you understand the complexities of my head." She sobbed. "Stop raising me, I am grown. I am way past childhood, I need to know more. I need to know you love me." She echoed.
There was deafening silence.
"How do we do that?" Asked Mom. "I tell you I love you all the time."
She reared up, "You tell me go to bed, you tell me go to school, you tell me to eat, you tell me to do this, you tell me to do that, you tell me you love me too, as if it is just another chore on the list, just another sound track in your head. I am learning who I am, I am discovering the depth of my mind and emotions, I feel alone in this journey. I do not feel connected with the family or anyone for that matter. I feel like no one knows me...really knows me."
Slowly her family sat in the freshly washed chairs and rested their hands on the table.
"I feel like an orphan in my own family. We are all strangers here. We are polite and pleasant, and speak to each others surface, DARN IT! SPEAK TO ME, the me inside, the me who is struggling and grappling with these emotions. Stop being pleasant and start being real. You can show me you love me by opening your heart and listening to me. Just listen. Make and effort to get to know me. Find out about my hopes and fears. I need to feel needed, and accepted for who I am, not who you want me to be."
She waited for an answer.
It wasn't the answer she was wanting.
Mom stood up and screeched "WHAT IS MY GOOD FURNITURE DOING IN THE RUBBISH PILE!"
Dad eyed her. "So what is for dinner? Your cooking tonight arn't you?"
Brother grabbed his jacket and bailed out the door.
She stood there frozen. Had she not spoken aloud? "PEOPLE, did you not hear me?!"
"Quite being so dramatic. Life isn't about you." Said her mom, as she headed out to rescue her furniture.
She sat gently down upon the old chair. "I feel like a chair. I feel like I was once a mighty tree that was fell, My good parts cut away and sold, the inferior parts bent and twisted and forced to conform to a pattern, just to please the consumer...as long as I am useful and pretty I am taken care of. Once I change and develop my own characteristics, I am sold or toss out. We are not a family...we are a matched set of furniture."
Dad puts his hand across the table and takes her.
She smiles glad she finally got through.
He presses a 50 dollar bill in her hand, "If you arn't cooking then order pizza"
Her trips numbered past twenty before she was done.
She and the chairs simply just vanished.
Like a ghost she haunted the house.
No one saw her, and no one noticed she was missing.
It ate holes in her heart that no one cared.
When she came of age she simply stepped out one day,
not really knowing where she was going.
Like a long caged bird she just saw the open door and flew.
Her family didn't even wave goodbye.
It was months later that her family spoke of her.
Dad simply mentioned one night "I see she finally got rid of all
those trashy chairs in the attic."
After that she faded from their memories.
Her age numbered past twenty before she was done wandering about. She found a high fortress and barricaded herself in behind a wall of old chairs. She let the chairs get dusty and the rich wood dry out and splinter. It was a formidable fence and no one dared climb it.
The loneliness was profoundly painful.
Sometimes she cut her skin just
to see if she was in.
Sure she worked with people and rode the bus with people,
shopped at stores with people, but no one really saw her.
They just saw her image, just like her family did.
Sure she had friends, but she kept them all at a distance and outside of her chair wall.
The darkness every night amplified the pain.
"I just want someone to need me" she told the chairs. "I know I do not belong to that family, but darn it, I want to belong somewhere."
She grew and ventured out and started therapy. Having someone validate her feelings was a powerful healing step.
"I want my family to come after me!" she sobbed one session.
"I want them to make the effort to contact me and be a part of my life."
Her Therapist stared her down. "can I tell you a secret?"
She dried her eyes intrigued at the sound of this. "sure"
"One isn't born into a family. One chooses a family."
She pondered this for a moment.
Her Therapist continued. "Your mom and dad found each other and hooked up and created a love seat. They then gave birth to a lazy boy-recliner and a carved cherry-wood elegant 16th century sit-upon. There is no room in any house for that mix and match furniture. You need to find the rest of the set you belong to. Quit trying to fit in there."
"Are you saying that all my wants and needs will never be met by my birth family?"
Her Therapist nodded gently. "what you wish your mom would give you, you will not get from her, but from someone else."
"Is this the way it is for everyone?"
"It is the way for far too many of us." frowned the Therapist.
She found as the years past and she grew and healed, that as the pain lessens she was able to remove some of the protecting chairs from her walls.
No they were not abandoned, but as she extended trust to another they were gifted with a chair. They took the chair as a precious gem and honored the meaning behind it.
Oh on occasion she trusted and gave a chair, only to have the receiver smash and shatter the delicateness of the beauty. But she learned and didn't shut down, just moved on and tried again.
Till at last she sat with only a few chairs between her and world.
She combed her hair and drew it back and once again
as she had long ago
set out and washed the chairs,
dried them,
singing ancient mermaid songs she learned in her dreams.
She oiled them and carried them out to dry in the sun.
she laid in the grass and marveled at the sheer beauty of her attic chairs. The light of the sun warmed her skin.
But it also revealed the scars.
She was no different than the scarred chairs who surrounded her.
They were all waiting silently for someone to bring them home.
She smiled. Really smiled. Realizing for the first time. She was at peace within herself.
She heard Therapist's words echoing in her heart. "It is the way for far too many of us."
"I will fix that." she said aloud to the chairs, her heart aching with compassion. "if we are all looking for our family, If we are all drifting in this sea of loneliness, and disconnectedness, then I will fix it."
She sat up and gathered her chairs and set off into life once again.
Her trips numbered past seven before she was done.
She was true to her word. Though she couldn't fix the problem itself.
Her trips numbered past seven before she was done.
She was true to her word. Though she couldn't fix the problem itself.
She offered a chair to all she met.
a place to sit
a moment of her time.
an ear to listen,
a hand to hold.
She simply treated all she met and in countered as if they
were family.
Her heart began to lighten and see the simple beauty in all she met.
Some were her family for only a moment.
The sad little girl with the hungry eyes in the grocery store she smiled at.
The tried old man on the bus she sat next to and listed to a a few blocks.
The exhausted mother in line at the grocery store she spoke to.
By giving she received. By being willing to risk she gained. She began to collect treasure more valuable than any tangible item on earth. She was collecting moments with other.
He came on day and stared for a long time at her chairs. "I see one I must have" he said to her.
He weaved through the chairs and took her into his arms.
"I need this one to complete my set." he said
She was frightened for a moment, "but I am scarred and I have rough edges and...and ..."
"And," he finished for her, "you are afraid of the unknown."
"yes"
He turned and gestured behind him. She peered over his broad shoulder.
He had is own pile of attic chairs too.
"the way I see it," he gently smiled, "is that you are coming home."
She was no longer afraid. He was choosing her, and she choose him.
Their trips numbered past twenty before they were done.
Then they took one trip down an isle.
Their house was filled with many attic chairs
all polished and shining
and there never was a lack of souls to sit upon them and share the
journey of life with them.
Thend
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Shriner's Hospital feet
I wrote this book for KSS to teach her about her cerebral palsy. She was four years old and ready to learn about her diagnosis. (If you click on the images they will enlarge.) Its still in its rough draft stage as there was never an official print run of it. I read it to her once. She looked up at me and asked "Do I have Zebra palsy?"
I knodded my head and the doors were open to teach her.
I have included it here so you can see the braces or AFOs (AFO = ankle-foot orthotic) so you know what I am talking about.
My second visit to Shiners Children's hospital was to make plaster casts of KSS feet so they could make AFO's for her.
Plastic torture devices that hurt like a SOB if you get kicked with them while trying to shoe a fighting child who doesn't want to go to the store with you.
Oh did I mentioned they are hinged plastic torture devises that will leave you screeching in high-E when you get pinched in there folding parts.
And KSS was not to fond of them either.
Her first pair didn't fit correctly and we had no idea they didn't fit her. We put them on her faithfully everyday like we were supposed to. Only to discover months later that they were not conforming to her feet correctly and they were undoubtedly causing her pain 24/7.
Well durr....that would explain why she hated them so much.
Made us grown up feel like crud too. Yeah, thanks Doc, I just spent the last few months hurting my child and adding to her pain and even further hindering her attempts to learn to walk. Nice job of making me feel like a monster.
Once we got AFO's that fit things got better.
but I digress...I want to share with you what happened that first fitting.
While we waited for KSS turn to have her legs casted in paster to make molds, she got wiggly.
So she and I wandered off. Her crawling slowly about the hallway looking for stuff to get into. The hallways were silent and empty. She tired door after door to find them locked.
I grabbed a quick drink of water and as I glanced up found myself alone in the hallway.
RUN AWAY BABY!
As I started checking doors I laughed at myself...geeze how stupid do you have to be to loose a small child who crawls at a very slow pace?
At last a door gave way and I peeked in to find KSS smiling up at me. "Sajah?" she grinned.
I scooped her up and froze.
The sight before searing itself onto my soul.
Stopping my heart.
there were rows and rows of pairs of plaster feet hanging from wires that stretched across the room. This was the room the AFOs were made in.
The main set of lights were off and so the little dangling feet were ghostly lite in a somber light.
Like a bunch of dancing angels. Beautiful chubby feet, ankles and toes.
My heart resumed beating, as the tears welled up. There feet didn't belong to dancing children. I could see the twists and bends in them.
These feet belong to children who might never walk, run or dance .
I looked at KSS. then back to the feet.
There were worried parents behind each pair of feet. Parents who cried many tears over those precious feet.
Row upon rows.
I ran hand down KSS's crooked leg and cupped her foot.
I thought of the workers in here taking each pair of feet down and handcrafting the AFOs to fit them.
I left the room and took her back to the waiting room. The enormity of the world I was now in, crystal clear in my head...and too much for my heart to handle.
I have visited that room many times in my dreams.
I always slip in quietly, stand among the dangling feet and catch my tears in my hands, then lovingly wet each tiny foot and re-sculpt it. My heart wishing endlessly to be able to heal those feet. To free those children, to give them feet that fly and jump.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Silent born
alone
toes over the edge
Arching back
I allow my inflated lungs to pull my chest upwards and then I leap
and plummet into life
....her tiny face, silent born
her voice echoing in my tears.
....his hands on my waist holding me
"woman" he whispers
my soul perks up and my body responds...yes
depression like an anchor pulls my body down
down
...down
to drown in the murky darkness
to wake to daylight and the dew on my face
to die with each breath, too painful to drawn in another,
close the coffin lid...
hearing the dirt falling down
hand reaching up and grabbing rung after rung
returning from mother earths womb
warm wind tousling my hair and embracing me
found my way and lost my way.
I watched the stick man die.
burned at the stake, one flame at a time
return me to the deep,
I feel the coil wind and tugged snug.
flung, catapulted to the sky, I go flailing
chest expands and I grab a lung full of life
silent born
eagle wings open and holding back the sky
flies so close her shadow touches me
she pulls me and my spirit takes flight
my tears pull me to the earth once again
slick river of blood
yellow boots
stamping out codes in the puddles
as I hopscotch down the driveway.
inhaled her last breath as she dies on my chest
and another one leaves me behind
take me with you...
take me with you....
inhaling in the night and saddened I can't translate the darkness
some cosmic code that calls to me and dances like a forgotten language on my tongue
translation lost, the echo to faint to hear again...
alone
toes over the edge
Arching back
(C) Nov 2010
Don't bother asking for a translation. This is one of those poems that I "found" scrawled in my notebooks. I Know only snatches of the images. The stick man was my friend HRP that I played Chess with. The eagle soaring over head, that happened while floating the Rogue River. The coolness of her shadow awoke me. There have been many who have died on my chest...
Somewhere within my soul is a restless writer who scribbles cryptic poems and story idea on to notes and then tucks them away till I find them. Sometimes they inspire me to write on. Sometimes they leave me wondering if perhaps I awoke from a dream and simply jotted it down.
This have been an incredibly exhausting few weeks and tomorrow is my one day off. Then I start the end of the month grind at work. I promise to write something new. I have so much I would like to write about. Just lacking the time to do so.
I just realized I do know another of the images. This one:
....his hands on my waist holding me
"woman" he whispers
my soul perks up and my body responds...yes
It was a full moon August night and me and my friend John were out to look at the comet that was just HUGE. I was bare foot in the tall green grass and just giddy with the excitement of a full moon, a comet and the warm summer breeze. John tapped me on the shoulder and said "look."
I looked behind me and got my socks knocked off....the start of an eclipse. Freaking awesome double whammy of heavenly wonders!! Comet/eclipse of a full moon.
At the peek of the eclipse the comet just GLOWED!! it was a sight I will never forget. I threw up my arms tossed back my head and howled. Then dropped my arms and felt my spirit lift as I left the grass. I was leaving this planet and going with the comet.
then I felt
....his hands on my waist holding me
"woman" he whispers
my soul perks up and my body responds...yes
"Do i need to chain you up to keep you here?"
I laugh and toss my long dark hair wildly. I felt my body again lift up as if infused with helium. My eyes returned to the sky.
Again, I felt his hands grab my waist and this time with a firm jerk he pulled me back.
heh.
good thing he was there to anchor me to the planet. Writers are very prone to being sucked up by passing celestial objects.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Christmas cheese, well it beats coal in your stocking
Working all week covering a co-worker. No time to write. So I am going to cheese you with this email from 2010.
This is one of my writings that takes me by surprise each time I read it. Just how deep the subject matter is, and how beautiful it turned out despite being written from a place of dark depression.
Enjoy. I am looking forward to next week. A lot to blog about.
**********************************************************************************
2010 Christmas
I have struggled to get in the Christmas spirit this year. The usual winter depression gnawing away at the fringes of my sanity is not helping.
I have nothing to give anyone. I feel like the little drummer boy. Even though I "buy" you all gifts all year long.
Thought this year I would actually tell you what my heart gives you all.
Every time I drive back to Medford I go on a heck of a shopping spree.
The commute from Medford is long and boring and on the way to GP I write in my head. I spin fabulous tales that no one will ever read. I sing loudly and badly to the fuzzy oldies station that fades in and out on my radio.
I stress over stuff I need to do, didn't do, should do and did do.
I spend the commute in the dark playground of my mind.
After work I head for home.
From the on-ramp to Rogue River I usually spend crying and screaming. De-stressing from the job that places me daily in the mist of the elderly and the ever looming impending shadow of death. Most days the amplified pain of my collection of orthopedic injuries reaches 10 on the pain scale and the screaming and crying helps....no not really, but I feels good to give the universe an ear full.
Then I hit Rogue River.
And the Powerball and Megabucks bill board greets me with it ever cheery tally of BAZILLIONS of dollars that are sitting in the pot waiting to be won.
45 million this particular night.
and the tears stop.
and the shopping starts.
Oh the usual frivolous thoughts light up my mind instantly.
With that money I would quit my job.
wait, my boss and co-workers know where I live....and I am an old woman with a bad back, I might be able to take one of them, but collectively they will kick my arse. Nix that idea.
Buy Corey a car that he fits in and won't bump his head.
buy me a new truck....(laugh till my side hurts as imagine the look on the salesman face as he tries to figure out the trade in value of my filthy truck with its custom paint job.)
In short order I have bought you all cars.
45 million.
lets see.
houses next.
Call my sister and tell her to house hunt...vs suprising her with a deed?
buy co-worker a house and leave the key and deed on her desk.
Send my parents to the coast for the day and paint the house blue again...leave a nice slick custom motorcycle with a comfortable seat and a matching side car in the drive way.
Sneak in and pay all the bills I can find for all of you.
Send oldest Brother to Africa. I promised him when he was young we would go. He has to go alone though. With all the hardware in my pelvis I would never get through the scanners.
Go spend time with Brother closest to my age and his family. Tell his kids all the crazy things we used to do...and show them the pictures! (aint seen nothing till you have seen him in Tiny Grandmas mumu's and her stole in his underwear with the mink heads poking out his fly.)
Buy Brother next younger from above brother and his family a huge house in Gold Hill so he doesn't have to do this commute any more.
and the list goes on and on.
I think of each and everyone of you, and how you impact my life.
and how I never tell you
how I wish I could win that money and anonymously give each and everyone of you what ever you want or need.
How after the initial greed reaction I reach deeper inside and I want to lavish those in my life with magical suprises.
A cat for my children, and a house to go with it.
Its not about paying you for being who you are, its about honoring you and reaching inside and communicating with you from my soul. Something I lack the ability to do verbally.
By the time I Sylvia's ranch I am bawling again. Marveling at how RICH I am, not with money, but simply by knowing you. All of you.
Wish I could spend that 45 billion to buy time. More time. Then I could make you all some fabulous gift that would let you know how much I treasure you.
Then I drive by furniture row and I start buying furniture to go in all the houses I bought on the drive.
By the time I hit the off ramp I am spent...physically and mentally....and monetarily. I sneak in and check on the kids and then slid into Corey's warm sleeping arms.
He slumbers unaware of the money that came and went in the night.
********************************
My gift to you all tonight.
A memory.
Of a Christmas that didn't go quite as I had planned. That was a year I lived at the farm. The year that Grandma's daughter bought her a pony. Tink was a dazzling mahogany bay with a long flowing black mane and tail.
The grand kids couldn't wait to ride her so before we ate dinner and opened presents, we went out to the yard. She was acting spooky so I insisted on getting on her first. She reared up so I tossed my weight forward to bring her down. Next think I know I'm on the ground with a pony in my lap. She had flipped backwards and taken me along for the ride. She popped up and I rolled to my side, keenly aware that from mid back down I was numb.
15,000 dollars later I was bolted back together with an impressive set of 4 3" screws and a Frankenstein plate in my pelvis.
The ER staff was all bummed that I had to spend Christmas in the hospital.
The next day around 8:00pm I looked up to see John and Suzy come into my room. What a pair they were. John I had worked with for 9 years at (insert name of some random nursing home). He and I share the same twisted sense of humor and inability to speak to our fellow man unless we are doing so in writing.
Suzy (name changed for privacy) was a resident who was 1/2 Native American and 1/2 mailman. She delighted in doing dumb Indian impression that would have won her all sorts of Oscars. She had long ago adopted me into her tribe.
They slid up to my bed and wiggled and twist like hyper puppy dogs.
"whhhaaat" I smiled, so pleased to see them. Soooo pleased.
Suzy handed me a Christmas present. "we brought you a present." And their faces split into Cheshire cat grins.
My brow wrinkled as I looked at the dusty present. Wondering two things. Why was it dusty?...and how did these two make it past security?
As I opened the wrapping paper they leaned over my rail and peered down to see the action. They looked like two kids on peaking into Santa's bag.
It was empty.
I glanced up at them and they burst into hysterical laughter. When they had caught their breath John explained they had stolen it from under the hospital's decorative tree in the ER on there way up to see me.
I can tell you this...belly laughing after having a horse fall on you and then having pelvic surgery is painful, but so worth it when you do it with friends.
So my favorite Christmas present of all time - an empty box filled with mischief and nincompoopery.
My favorite gift that I get all year round is you.
All the people in my life who see me, work with me, talk with me, eat Chinese food with me, share this planet with me. You are my gifts. It never ceases to amaze me that you would give up your precious time to spend some of it with me.
and someday when I win that bazzillion dollars you will be soooooo glad I am in your life.
************************************
and no Christmas is complete without a stocking
I made this one just for you
In it I put laughter, for those days you need some
band-aids, for those days you are hurting.
tucked in 1/2 a rainbow so you don't forget to chase the magic this planet has to offer,
a handful of fall leaves, a gust of snow,
arms to hold you,
a broken chain,
two hairs from a stallions mane,
a bucket of rain.
a soft hankie to dry your tears,
dew drops gathered on cat whiskers,
warm apples off the tree
a shooting star so you will always have wishes,
puppy kisses.
bright green spring grass,
a warm breeze,
healthy feet to chase your dreams,
moon beams.
Strength to break your bonds,
and too hold on.
The perfect wave
an Indian brave
a handful of skipping stones,
a smooth pond for you to free them on.
a horse only you can ride,
a place to hide.
a smile, kisses
and lots of wishes
a candy cane,
a country lane,
and may you wake to no pain.
I'm so glad you checked your e-mail today,
so that I may
(((((((((((((((((((((you)))))))))))))))))))))))
and tell you how much I enjoy your company.
Merry Christmas
Love P
This is one of my writings that takes me by surprise each time I read it. Just how deep the subject matter is, and how beautiful it turned out despite being written from a place of dark depression.
Enjoy. I am looking forward to next week. A lot to blog about.
**********************************************************************************
2010 Christmas
I have struggled to get in the Christmas spirit this year. The usual winter depression gnawing away at the fringes of my sanity is not helping.
I have nothing to give anyone. I feel like the little drummer boy. Even though I "buy" you all gifts all year long.
Thought this year I would actually tell you what my heart gives you all.
Every time I drive back to Medford I go on a heck of a shopping spree.
The commute from Medford is long and boring and on the way to GP I write in my head. I spin fabulous tales that no one will ever read. I sing loudly and badly to the fuzzy oldies station that fades in and out on my radio.
I stress over stuff I need to do, didn't do, should do and did do.
I spend the commute in the dark playground of my mind.
After work I head for home.
From the on-ramp to Rogue River I usually spend crying and screaming. De-stressing from the job that places me daily in the mist of the elderly and the ever looming impending shadow of death. Most days the amplified pain of my collection of orthopedic injuries reaches 10 on the pain scale and the screaming and crying helps....no not really, but I feels good to give the universe an ear full.
Then I hit Rogue River.
And the Powerball and Megabucks bill board greets me with it ever cheery tally of BAZILLIONS of dollars that are sitting in the pot waiting to be won.
45 million this particular night.
and the tears stop.
and the shopping starts.
Oh the usual frivolous thoughts light up my mind instantly.
With that money I would quit my job.
wait, my boss and co-workers know where I live....and I am an old woman with a bad back, I might be able to take one of them, but collectively they will kick my arse. Nix that idea.
Buy Corey a car that he fits in and won't bump his head.
buy me a new truck....(laugh till my side hurts as imagine the look on the salesman face as he tries to figure out the trade in value of my filthy truck with its custom paint job.)
In short order I have bought you all cars.
45 million.
lets see.
houses next.
Call my sister and tell her to house hunt...vs suprising her with a deed?
buy co-worker a house and leave the key and deed on her desk.
Send my parents to the coast for the day and paint the house blue again...leave a nice slick custom motorcycle with a comfortable seat and a matching side car in the drive way.
Sneak in and pay all the bills I can find for all of you.
Send oldest Brother to Africa. I promised him when he was young we would go. He has to go alone though. With all the hardware in my pelvis I would never get through the scanners.
Go spend time with Brother closest to my age and his family. Tell his kids all the crazy things we used to do...and show them the pictures! (aint seen nothing till you have seen him in Tiny Grandmas mumu's and her stole in his underwear with the mink heads poking out his fly.)
Buy Brother next younger from above brother and his family a huge house in Gold Hill so he doesn't have to do this commute any more.
and the list goes on and on.
I think of each and everyone of you, and how you impact my life.
and how I never tell you
how I wish I could win that money and anonymously give each and everyone of you what ever you want or need.
How after the initial greed reaction I reach deeper inside and I want to lavish those in my life with magical suprises.
A cat for my children, and a house to go with it.
Its not about paying you for being who you are, its about honoring you and reaching inside and communicating with you from my soul. Something I lack the ability to do verbally.
By the time I Sylvia's ranch I am bawling again. Marveling at how RICH I am, not with money, but simply by knowing you. All of you.
Wish I could spend that 45 billion to buy time. More time. Then I could make you all some fabulous gift that would let you know how much I treasure you.
Then I drive by furniture row and I start buying furniture to go in all the houses I bought on the drive.
By the time I hit the off ramp I am spent...physically and mentally....and monetarily. I sneak in and check on the kids and then slid into Corey's warm sleeping arms.
He slumbers unaware of the money that came and went in the night.
********************************
My gift to you all tonight.
A memory.
Of a Christmas that didn't go quite as I had planned. That was a year I lived at the farm. The year that Grandma's daughter bought her a pony. Tink was a dazzling mahogany bay with a long flowing black mane and tail.
The grand kids couldn't wait to ride her so before we ate dinner and opened presents, we went out to the yard. She was acting spooky so I insisted on getting on her first. She reared up so I tossed my weight forward to bring her down. Next think I know I'm on the ground with a pony in my lap. She had flipped backwards and taken me along for the ride. She popped up and I rolled to my side, keenly aware that from mid back down I was numb.
15,000 dollars later I was bolted back together with an impressive set of 4 3" screws and a Frankenstein plate in my pelvis.
The ER staff was all bummed that I had to spend Christmas in the hospital.
The next day around 8:00pm I looked up to see John and Suzy come into my room. What a pair they were. John I had worked with for 9 years at (insert name of some random nursing home). He and I share the same twisted sense of humor and inability to speak to our fellow man unless we are doing so in writing.
Suzy (name changed for privacy) was a resident who was 1/2 Native American and 1/2 mailman. She delighted in doing dumb Indian impression that would have won her all sorts of Oscars. She had long ago adopted me into her tribe.
They slid up to my bed and wiggled and twist like hyper puppy dogs.
"whhhaaat" I smiled, so pleased to see them. Soooo pleased.
Suzy handed me a Christmas present. "we brought you a present." And their faces split into Cheshire cat grins.
My brow wrinkled as I looked at the dusty present. Wondering two things. Why was it dusty?...and how did these two make it past security?
As I opened the wrapping paper they leaned over my rail and peered down to see the action. They looked like two kids on peaking into Santa's bag.
It was empty.
I glanced up at them and they burst into hysterical laughter. When they had caught their breath John explained they had stolen it from under the hospital's decorative tree in the ER on there way up to see me.
I can tell you this...belly laughing after having a horse fall on you and then having pelvic surgery is painful, but so worth it when you do it with friends.
So my favorite Christmas present of all time - an empty box filled with mischief and nincompoopery.
My favorite gift that I get all year round is you.
All the people in my life who see me, work with me, talk with me, eat Chinese food with me, share this planet with me. You are my gifts. It never ceases to amaze me that you would give up your precious time to spend some of it with me.
and someday when I win that bazzillion dollars you will be soooooo glad I am in your life.
************************************
and no Christmas is complete without a stocking
I made this one just for you
In it I put laughter, for those days you need some
band-aids, for those days you are hurting.
tucked in 1/2 a rainbow so you don't forget to chase the magic this planet has to offer,
a handful of fall leaves, a gust of snow,
arms to hold you,
a broken chain,
two hairs from a stallions mane,
a bucket of rain.
a soft hankie to dry your tears,
dew drops gathered on cat whiskers,
warm apples off the tree
a shooting star so you will always have wishes,
puppy kisses.
bright green spring grass,
a warm breeze,
healthy feet to chase your dreams,
moon beams.
Strength to break your bonds,
and too hold on.
The perfect wave
an Indian brave
a handful of skipping stones,
a smooth pond for you to free them on.
a horse only you can ride,
a place to hide.
a smile, kisses
and lots of wishes
a candy cane,
a country lane,
and may you wake to no pain.
I'm so glad you checked your e-mail today,
so that I may
(((((((((((((((((((((you)))))))))))))))))))))))
and tell you how much I enjoy your company.
Merry Christmas
Love P
Monday, December 3, 2012
The four sisters
I tuck you carefully in and kiss your forehead. Stop squirming little one and I shall tell you a bedtime story.
Once upon a time there was a group of four sisters.
Oh they were the wildest girls you ever saw. Like a herd of delicate Arabian mares.
Everything about them was musical and magical.
Their laughter was like the sound of falling snow, light delicate and hushed.
Life flowed from there hands as they linked arms and spun in circles. You could see the joy radiating from there eyes.
No one knew there names, or ever called them...
Everyone liked to watch them. Young girls wanted to be like them. To taste their freedom.
The sisters would ride there horses at a full gallop down the crooked path to the ocean.
There they would write messages in the sand and wait for the ocean to wash them away. Occasionally they would have to start over as one of the horses would prance over there messages.
No one knew there names, or ever called them...
Their days were care free and unblemished. They never new pain or hurt.
One night, when the stars were late to rise, the girls woke and rode bareback down the crooked path, the horses dancing in the distilled moonlight.
There on the beach was a girl with long dark hair. Around her bare feet were angry words scratched deep into the sand. The ocean tried but could not wash them away. The cool dark water filled the holes, but could not stay and ran out in dark trickles.
The sisters shivered and reined the horses around. Wanting to flee the beach. They had their happiness and their peace. There was no room in their hearts for this darkness.
"Joy, Hope, Trust, Love!!" The girl with windswept hair called.
The sisters twisted on there horses and their mouths opened in surprise for no one knew there names, or ever called them...
"I don't know you." said one of the sisters
"But I know you" said the girl as the wine dark sea swirled around her ankles. "you haunt me in my dreams, and I call for you and you never come." Her face reddens with anger " WHY DO YOU VISIT OTHERS AND SPEND TIME WITH THEM AND NEVER ME?"
The sisters dismount and walk through the cool sand. "well" said Trust, "I'm not with you...for someone has taken me from you. That man with the flesh knife. Someone else must give me back to you."
"NEVER" snorts the Girl drawing up a wall of sand. " to protect myself I will not allow people to get close to me."
With a voice so soft it sounded like the sound of butterfly wings, Joy spoke. "I cannot be held."
The dark haired girl roared, "but I must have you! I want to know what it feels like to have
joy."
"Do you even know what joy feels like?" she whispered.
Darkness clouds the girls eyes, and her legs give way and bring her to the sand. Her shoulders slump and draw her closer to the earth. "No, but I just know if I had Joy I could put her in my heart and ease the ache that is there."
"That is where my sister belongs." Joy responds, pointing to Love.
The girl erupts from the sand. "NO ONE WILL EVER LOVE ME! TO BE LOVED IS TO RISK BEING HURT! I HAVE BEEN HURT ENOUGH. NO ONE WILL LOVE ME!"
The sisters wait.
The realization is slow and painful, like a process of disarming a bomb. One of the heavy chains of the darkness drops off...slowly it dawns on the dark haired girl.
"No one will love me...I don't even allow myself to love me." She wails painfully into the night.
Love and Joy and Trust speak as one. "start your journey there my friend." They remount there horses.
"WAIT!!" called the girl, "I am stuck."
"Then stop hiding and come after us" they said reining their mounts around and starting back up the crooked path.
"WAIT!!" called the girl, "I am alone."
"No you are not." They responded pointing to the riderless horse next to them. "Hope will stay with you."
"She is always with you." Said Love. ""Always."
Dissipating like fog the sisters dematerialized into the night.
"How will I find you again?" She said quietly.
"It is easy..." said Hope in her singsong voice, "you follow the beats of your heart."
The girl smiled and her heart sang.
Carefully I close the book and for a moment watch you sleep. One last kiss to your forehead and then I slip out into the night to ride with the sisters.
(C) Jan 12, 2005 P R
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