happy days

the sun has been out 3 days in a row
i just made lea laugh
my husband is content
my son has the giggles
and my allergy meds are making me loopy, not sleepy.

it's a good day:)

fingerpainted memory

maybe someday i will jump from the solid ground and you will find me no more. the wind has little preference for the direction it goes. maybe there will be some as yet undiscovered place that i will see, and find my way home from there, and then i'll be an adventurer. i always envied those who found america first... to cast yourself from all you know and find a new way must be a heady sensation.

and as i grow old and each memory of those unfound places crumbles with time the beautiful scraps left behind will have wonderful colors.

i will dip my finger in each pigment and caress the canvas.

and when i am gone, no one will miss me, for i will have left my dreams behind to be savored.

how it all began

the place we came from has nearly burned to the ground. all the old neighborhood haunts feel like a ghost town. you can see the memories pass through the empty halls, and it makes you wonder if you were really there, or did you dream it all?

but the beauty never fades, even when in the memory it is misplaced.

i remember that one time, when we drove in the rain and it was so quiet. the peace came down with every drop and i remember hoping that when i left the momentary sanctuary the cares of life would not return. i was so old when i was younger... my bones would ache and my mind was weak and i always had a funeral to go to. i wore the world heavily on my shoulders. the sharpness of my cynical thoughts would tear anyone to pieces who stood there long enough to bear my gaze, and i rarely left the dead horse alone.

i think the fear of feeling had worked its way to the depths of me, like a rheumatism for the young and frequently disappointed.

you know, somewhere on my porch you can still find the ashes we left behind when you once again told me that i'm not insane, and one day i would feel the wind beneath my feet. i wanted to believe.

i think i'm quite lucky. not many souls have so many to walk the path with, and i have found those who will not doubt me. and when you do, i remember the days behind us and all the path we've cleared. i'll take my chance and forge ahead to places unknown. and when we learn how to fly, i won't even miss the weeds.

soothe

the taste was still lingering in her mouth.

too many places have left their mark, and now she's getting careless. and thoughtless. she hurriedly reached for her things and tried to discount the nagging sensation that she was not who she set out to be. in her rushed attempt to find solace from yesterday's wounds, she had given away her faith, piece by piece.

as the cold wind hit her face when she stepped out on the street, she ignored the fact that when she looked her friend in the eye as she passed, there wasn't a hint of recognition.

explain

so we had a perfectly natural miracle today. jesus came without fanfare, and dropped the line about hiding in the caves and running to the hills and woe to those who are with child. he came in a bush that burned but did not ash. i touched the scars on his hand and knew i saw a mirage, for only my imaginiation could dream up such a powerful charasmatic experience as one would have when dipping your fingers in the crevices left by his wounds. how odd, that i smelled a mirage. the scent of jasmine mixed with dead leaves hinted at my subconsious, and i wondered at the possible prophetic meaning.

do you call me heretical for believing in what i could not have seen? i would have to remind you that i have touched the face of God, and he found me impure and wanting, and so he gave me a new shirt and ushered me into his home. a feast was waiting for me, and as i gorged myself on the bountiful plenty i found before me i was grateful i was no longer a sinner.