“…I’ve discovered over the years that the simplist explanation is almost always the right one; and that hunger of one kind or another–desire, by another name– is the source of almost every sorrow.”
From the book, The Woman Upstairs by Claire Messud
glass orbs in the sun
Moonshadow by Cat Stevens
books about artists
long afternoon walks
red and green leaves
lunch with old friends and new friends
lost feathers
beautiful weeds
fog in the morning and
sensual rains in the night
the day awakens
and with it–
hopefulness
sometimes tears,
sometimes laughter,
and sometimes
both
i picked the pine cones and carried the smell on my hands the rest of the day
and it reminded me of that time when we were young and we played by the swings
where your grandfather killed the big snake and my grandmother made us lunch,
we ate our lunch by the pines behind my house and i could taste the smell of those trees on my toast and carried it with me through that day, through my life and into today, 40 eternal years later
she had become wild and overgrown,
like creeping ivy,
and feral night creatures–
like neglected velvet roses
and fierce northern winds
Your path will take unforseen turns. Keep walking, use a stick for support and make some noise in the forest. You will trip and become tired, but remember to look around at the velvet moss, the tiny mushrooms, the hidden snake, the baby chipmunk. Not everyone takes the same path, and not everyone walks at the same pace.
Honor your own journey and keep in time with your vision.
