It is enough for me, the breeze today. To let it waft over me, and with it, bring a strength.
Beauty and curiosity, like a bleached-comb Cardinal, often ride on such air. This morning, though, wisdom arrived.
This morning, the wind asked for my resolve: A halt to crying over others’ big promises and small feet. The stop to the bruises I allow.
A decision that I am enough. The God who created me said so.
This weekend, a storm of understanding is predicted. An Eastern Bluebird cannot be far behind.
An almost is
All live somewhere in the ether
A god of sorts, and my muse, how you made me
Created me and made me reach
Let me cry, watched me love
Let me down, helped me up
Some universe, somewhere is missing what dust
Why did you act like water and feel like hands
And I, born thirsty with never a progenitor to touch me
Why did I, the reluctant saint, concede nonetheless to True North’s tug
And you, the only lesser god ever worth worshipping
I praise you, God, and with warmed feet, proceed….
My lean-to, you are, so that I may Stand.
You make me in constant good company.
Pancakes on a Sunday morning were never supposed to be so loud.
The only sounds I’d predicted were newspapers unfolding, rustling pages after an appropriate period of time.
Harp-laced sunshine musically poured from the orange juice pitcher to your glass, my son.
Cozy, fluffy, buttermilk breaths, exhaling at long last, I wanted for us.
But the week had gotten the better of me.
Instead you heard man’s demands and the echoes of entitled children.
Screeching chairs against cold floor tiles and anxiety-producing forced air overhead.
Waste and plastic and a bit of excess.
But there was the blessed color, wasn’t there?
Tell me you noticed, beautiful.
The smiles of the Sunday workers, employed by capitalism, but still genuine and holding their own.
The crowd beside us in Sunday best, good news and gospel aglow.
Brothers and sisters we are.
Take that from the morn, my child.
This lovely, winding, seasonal scene of our lives.
And the time we were given and allowed ourselves.