Soaring.
Blind flying sky-high.
I'll be here and there and everywhere soon.
My dreams handed to me one-by-one.
Exhiliration exhalation explanation "do you want the short one or the long..."
It's a long way home, so long, but there's such a force here.
A force of magnetism that draws me in and up.
Upward, outward.
I'm flying to fly, soon.
The calls and emails come faster, the Law of Attraction works,
Again and again.
Thanks, so many thanks to whatever little angel, whichever of the lovely
Fates has hung so many little baubles and bright jewels on my thread.
Whoever braided it so smoothly.
I can leave the window open, and the sweet breeze blows me in the right direction.
My sail's unfurled, spinnaker-wide.
Bright colors call to the birds aflight and sun rays and waves' spray
"You're welcome," they whisper.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
I am eating the last of the leftover lettuce.
Radish metaphors for our adventures, so seldom anymore.
Doubt creeps into my mind, every time.
Every time you drive off into the sunset, I say goodbye for the last time.
I steel myself a little for the possibility that this is the inevitable.
I have carried this suspicion for so long, it's silly.
I suspect I won't have any warning. Maybe it's more of a hope...
For years, I have held my breath a little every time I pick up your call, every "Open" click.
I wonder where I learned that little fear, maybe a long time ago? Something I never left behind?
Hope, then.
A little hope that you won't go the way of the Dodo, drooling and grinning at your own sad, punchlineless joke.
I don't want you to slow down. I don't want you to lie down to sleep and I see it a little, here and there.
I see your grand conflagration gradually extinquishing itself. Like a forest fire that finally runs out of fuel.
Part of me wishes it were true, that I could preserve you in my memory now, rather than waiting a lifetime for your dreams to slowly disappear.
That would be the greatest tragedy for you, to disappear.
But, you have many more stories to tell, I think. Many more bright suns in your eyes.
You have to finish your own tale, anyway. As much as I fuss and quietly fret, and I know the ending, yes, but I don't know how we get there. Many chapters are still to be written.
Yes, many stories still to be told.
Radish metaphors for our adventures, so seldom anymore.
Doubt creeps into my mind, every time.
Every time you drive off into the sunset, I say goodbye for the last time.
I steel myself a little for the possibility that this is the inevitable.
I have carried this suspicion for so long, it's silly.
I suspect I won't have any warning. Maybe it's more of a hope...
For years, I have held my breath a little every time I pick up your call, every "Open" click.
I wonder where I learned that little fear, maybe a long time ago? Something I never left behind?
Hope, then.
A little hope that you won't go the way of the Dodo, drooling and grinning at your own sad, punchlineless joke.
I don't want you to slow down. I don't want you to lie down to sleep and I see it a little, here and there.
I see your grand conflagration gradually extinquishing itself. Like a forest fire that finally runs out of fuel.
Part of me wishes it were true, that I could preserve you in my memory now, rather than waiting a lifetime for your dreams to slowly disappear.
That would be the greatest tragedy for you, to disappear.
But, you have many more stories to tell, I think. Many more bright suns in your eyes.
You have to finish your own tale, anyway. As much as I fuss and quietly fret, and I know the ending, yes, but I don't know how we get there. Many chapters are still to be written.
Yes, many stories still to be told.
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