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wishing flower, vulnerable and beautiful

Let’s just say, I’m not an early morning girl.  Those who know me appreciate this and quietly leave me alone until I’ve had a chance to emerge from my pre-coffee zombie state.  However, there is a bird glee club that begins at about 3:30, yes in the morning.  It’s lovely and melodic; leaving me no choice but to listen.  Translated, this means I’ve been up before my norm.  The youthful hours are warm, but fresh; they beg for a walk, and so does Isabella.
Yesterday was a little cooler so our pace was speedy, at least for my little legs.  We passed cars and bushes and bugs zipping around … and the rejected weed.

pulled up by its roots discarded wishing flower tossed aside left at the edge of the sidewalk
the sun beat down life ebbing from the slender stalk, leaves drying, privately curling desperate to hold onto being
funny, how I noticed the thrown-away on a morning walk my thought to stop and pick up the mopped, fluffy head
full of wispy seeds of would-be, it held a fundamental artistry lying i…
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an empty park

The park was empty this morning. I was humming California Dreamin'. I like seeing people and exchanging a few words, but there's something extraordinary and peaceful about being there - alone. Isabella freely sniffed. 
I could weave my way in and out of the trees without wondering if people thought I was a crazy lady for not walking a straight path.
trees are gray-brown silhouettes 
set against an ashen sky, ready to drop crafted snowflakes
streets are iced
houses bright with twinkling lights beckon us indoors
winter is descending with darkness and dormancy and cold
each breath exhaled creates fog
an innate splendor 
air crystallizes and suspends for a moment
all is calm
all is quiet
in the season of rest and sleep

I could hear the birds and see my breath. 
I was mindful of winter's imminent arrival. The sky had that "snow sky" look. It's time to think about hibernating, where all is stilled and quiet for a time.

Plants and animals need this season to regenerate and grow.…

cocooned in a glass container

I was cocooned in a glass container on top of a hill, shrouded in clouds and mist. Eva Cassidy sang a bluesy "Wade in the Water." Looking out, the infinity deck was like a ship's bow and we were sailing through the storm.

Every other year is our all-family together, together Thanksgiving gathering.
2018 happened to be that gathering year, and I was spoiled; getting to stay in one of our favorite spots - the cabin above the clouds - that belongs to some friends.

Thanksgiving Day was a cacophony of activity. Cousins big and little did their thing. The littles running through the house, even though they were supposed to be upstairs. Tons of giggling could be heard, and of course, the requisite getting mad; just because that's what happens. Love and interaction does that. Family, even at young ages is messy, but I wouldn't trade or discard it.

Stories, old and new were re-lived. Some old stories were given new applications.
All isn't rose-colored and perfect like H…

ode to a stranger

There was a day I was walking in the park with Isabelle. It's a daily activity that's pretty easy for me, now. But, several years back that wasn't the case. Discs in my lower back were pinching nerves, causing the most piercing pain I had ever experienced. 
Walking was the worst; and I loved walking.
i saw you walking in the park alone birds chattered with squirrels together i saw you bent, moving slowly coping willows shifting in the wind sky lit and sparkling balanced i saw you and i was sad until i saw your smile inspiring

After infinite physical therapy treatments and injections and chiropractor visits my doc said a fusion was needed. I freaked, but at this point had nothing to lose and my very movement to gain.

Seven years later, I can hike and bike, kayak and snowshoe. I'm grateful for the mobility I gained.
So, seeing this woman in the park brought a flood of emotion and empathy. She was as bent as branches on some of the old twisted pine trees. I was sad for her struggle, feelin…

i'm reverting to what i think i always was

Writing sometimes takes floaty, old-school music. Right now I'm listening to a Zombies radio mix and specifically Steppenwolf's "Born to be Wild" that fades into "Venus" by Shocking Blue.

All these songs used to stream out of my sweet black transistor radio when I was in Jr. High, now known as middle school. 
We were so cool with our stick-straight hair parted in the middle, wearing white go-go boots and micro-mini skirts. Yes, the stuff of Austin Powers' dreams was groovy reality, baby.

All of this musical randomness slipped around in my thoughts as I experimented with another poetic fall piece, but Crosby starts tuning "Wooden Ships," so I pour a glass of 19 Crimes and light the candles.

Curtains are drawn. It's dark and quiet outside, while music blares in the house. 
The notes return the past, like Jr. High dances. How awkward we were, waiting for a slow song and the excuse to cling onto each other. Or, Strawberry Fields Forever when we&…

autumn waning

My laptop sits on a makeshift desk. It's situated in an east facing window. From my window I see the neighborhood where I live, and an intense ruddy maple tree. At the base of the tree is a dry creek bed  we created this summer. It's now full of the red leaves, recently blown from branches. 

Allowing my gaze to go beyond the maple, a tall pine stands and the pale medallions of the aspen glint in the afternoon light. The colors and splendor of the dying and drying leaves affects me every year. I wish I could capture the enticing beauty with photos and words worthy of the display.

Copperhead Road plays in the background. The name kind of goes with this piece; a nice strong beat vibrating, much like my heart when autumn arrives.

autumn sun rises slowly,  splintering the horizon into blushing skies that appear to the strain of birdsong

wild geese honk their lonesome ballad,  taking flight in early morning mist falling gently on grassy fields

thick dew lays over the breaking dawn,  illum…

the hedge, on the edge

Walking past the hedge, on the edge of the broken pavement, the path constricts as branches brush past my cheek. The way is narrow and thin; a reflective pace unavoidable.

There's life in the hedge - birds and bugs, spiders and the sort. Life seems well designed for creatures of nature. They exist in the hedge and dine on what comes their way; a small interactive society.

In some way or another, we all live in a hedge - our town, our community, neighborhood and home. How much we participate in the movement of our hedge depends on us.
Take the spider for example. She spins a lively tatted web and then waits, luring in her food. On the other hand, birds flit and flicker, seizing what have you's here and there, and then  return to their nest. Other living things fill additional elements of the hedge. All have a useful fragment of the being.

I walk by this hedge most days. And, most days the phrase, "walking past the hedge on the edge" goes through my mind.
I originally th…

leaving las vegas

Leaving Las Vegas, a line made famous in movies, song lyrics and billboard slogans. For me, it’s more than a catch-phrase. It pierces my heart, now more than ever.

You see, previously, people were there drawing me back, but as pages are torn from the book entitled “Life,” I’m more aware of how fleeting and transient things are. Change is a given.
My heart feels - each word expressed - come back, don’t be a stranger. I know they’re wondering if they’re losing all contact with the family of ones deeply loved. I wonder, too. And while I also know that’s how things happen, I don’t have to like it.

So, I stare out the window of the plane, the sun bringing light and heat to the day in shades of pink and pale orange which burst against the blue sky. My thoughts are pensive, questioning, seeing only the rugged ranges with striations of soil and color veining them. As the plane climbs we soar above the clouds stacked on each other like mounds of whipped sweet cream. Contemplation is as thick as…