The buds, fuzzy and soft, pop out of the branches of the peach tree.
Her neighboring willows sway with small, golden green foliage.
Grass sparkles and dazzles in the bright sun.
So green it hurts.
Like an unexpected laugh that leaves the sides aching for more,
and protesting for less, all at once.
New flowers dance in the breeze.
Swaying to natures music.
As birds sing, frolic, and build.
Merrily embracing the day. The freshness.
The abundance of joy found in watching spring unfold.
The shirt hung large on his small frame. ‘you’ll grow into it.’ She spoke with authority and knowing. He tugged at the sleeves which engulfed his hands. Comforted by the large shirt. Wanting for too long to be small. Because small meant he was out of the way. Muniscule. Unimportant. Overlooked.
The shirt sleeves hit too high on his arm. He grew into it, and now out of it.Bigger. Stronger. A tad surer. He loomed over some. Not aggressively, but by shear size. Gentle. Caring.
He grew into himself. By shear luck, or circumstance. It really did not matter how it was labeled. He felt good. Whole.
He took that wholeness and shaped a world.
Everything tied into a everything.
Moved as one.
Not lost on some.
The moments after fear and rage.
Reminders that miracles can be placed.
Nothing ever holds us back.
Yet sometimes when we ask…
Things unfold different and bold.
Accepted by our faith.
It all works out someway.
Do you know what love is?
What it feels like?
What it looks like?
What Love is?
I do. I don’t want to write about it.
Why?
Because it grips, holds, pulses breath through my very veins.
It’s too personal, emotional, real.
Yet it pours onto the page like honey from the spoon.
Slow. Calm. Sweet. Engulfing.
Leaving pause to wonder.
What is love?
Why would one what to write about it?
When it’s the breath of life.
Seems redundant.
I hear you sigh…that long winded breath you release when I am petulant.
So I write. About love. Universal. Unconditional. Breath of all breath. Love.
As it should be. Pure. Simple. Heartwrenchingly beautiful. Joyful. Painful.
Even when I don’t think there are more words for it. I write.
But I don’t want to write about love.
Yet I cannot stop.
My head slipped under. Muffled voices echoed in the cool water.
I could not hear a word of it, but the tone felt important.
Holding breath and trying to feel my way to the surface.
Emerging. I can hear you.
Yes. It is clear now.
With reservation and restrictions.
Hope this passes quickly.
What kind of fluid moment could we capture here?
Asked by some to keep routine.
Not wanting scheduled schemes.
Fitting in and finding out.
Although we stuck to procedure.
One of us did not care.
Left us all on the line.
It a pain we often bare.
So what can we do?
When this pain is brand new?
Take a moment, pray real hard.
Listen for the wisdom.
Come what may, we will learn from it.
Maybe now, maybe years from now,
But how do we move on?
When one of us decided to harm us all…
The dance moved rhythmically. Flowing grace across the stage. Flashes of colorful fabric. Dazzling smiles. Movement rehearsed to graceful perfection. Steady flow. Steady beats. Rhythmic.
