that's mrs. mediocrity to you

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open

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just like that

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this morning
the world is blanketed in snow

a veil of white to hide
all the ugly places

a marriage of reality
and need

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the birds have all
gathered in one corner

waiting to be tossed back out again
scattered through the sky like rice

black on grey
or red on emptiness

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there is no waiting
now

only tricks of time
and miracles of motion

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steam rises from tea
on a round black table

the hungry hawk
draws circles
in a sky of pale

remembering blue
with a crooked smile

ever wistful

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may you be surrounded

by the love and light

of family and friends

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peace and smiles to you

xoxo

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glitter glow in your eyes

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the tangled webs

we weave

form the beauty

of life

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Each flower defies the odds and pushes on.

We want to make the world our own, but there is no survival without constant adaptation. A rudimentary concept, yes, but we get all crafty about it, bury our heads in the sand, pretend we can send down roots and stay in one place forever. But the earth we stand on keeps revolving, and the sky we reach for is filled with light that is already older than we are, no matter how long we may live. Sunlight takes approximately eight minutes to reach the earth. The light from some of the stars we see is 400 hundred years old.

So if, for some reason, the sun ever goes out, we wouldn’t even know for eight whole minutes. A short grace period, yes, but I kind of like the magic in that.

Time may be full of tricks, but light remains steady.

Which makes it so much easier to stand alone in the dark, making wishes on stars that have already lived through more lifetimes than I can imagine. Silent witnesses to a multitude of births and deaths, joy and anguish, storm and smooth calm sea.

If you think that a flower is fragile, imagine what it takes to push up through dark soil more than 10 times your height, and reach for a sun that will always, just barely, outrun you.

Miracles and magic happen around us, all day, every day. No one ever said it would be easy. No on ever said we wouldn’t have to fight to stand in the light. No one ever said that anything lasts forever.

Each moment is precious.

And we forget that eighty thousand times a day.

So take one second and look at a flower. Or a baby just learning to walk. Or the old woman dragging her cart through the grocery store. Or even the young man, in such a hurry to get where he’s going, that forgets to hold the door for her.

I’m glad to find hope is so stubborn.

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i have ornaments older than i am
glass as thin as petal
reflecting the history of countless
christmas mornings
and endless summers
hid away
in the dark

more fragile than any egg
yet here they are

still whole

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the simple mystery of time
is so damn complicated

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but the whispers of love
they are wrapped in
allow them
to survive

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A foot of snow this week as a tease for what lies ahead. Shoveling and roof-raking and admiring the magic that always comes with gently falling flakes and morning sunshine sparkle.

A white blanket of silence to cover all the ugliness, the grey, the mud of life, making it beautiful once again, at least on the surface.

Sometimes, skin deep is just enough to console you, just enough to make you smile little smiles, just enough to show you that hope is always waiting in the wings.

And life is always there , somewhere, even if you can’t see the green of grass and the pink of rose, it’s there.

Loss and regret swirl around my head as I move through the grief of an old friend’s death, a sweet soul the same age as me, far too young to be taken.

Everything looks different now.

There is so much silence.

This rabbit sits by my door, watching it all, offering no words of wisdom. But it’s okay, I don’t need words, his presence is enough.

The sky folds down around us and we wait.

Each snowflake, each life, each morning, unique and transient and lovely.

The wind howls.

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feet first

because i never have been
a good swimmer

and i wish i knew
how to tread water
or even how to float
belly up

with a smile for the sky
and a wish for every cloud

but i only know
how to sink

and the good thing

the good thing

is that each day is shallow and
the current
carries me forward
and swimming is not the only way
to get from here to there

but in between

in between

this tide of tears
shall wash me

in the silent crest
of clean

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it all hangs in the balance

of what we’re never quite sure

and color leaks
through everything

touching edges
still hoping
for the grey of silence

heartache rolls round
in great waves of destruction

i bleed
you bleed
we all bleed

and you can’t staunch the flow
of life
with an easy off bandage

any more
than you can breathe
when the air
fills with constants

this chair
that tree
a quick flash of smile

memories are never
sincere

nostalgia
always wears
the wrong dress
for the occasion

but underneath
the pulsing river
flows on

the currency of friction
driving us
forward

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