welcome back spring

Sometimes you just need to stop and take it all in...marvel at the the pink...she outdoes herself every spring.

change

The sky was lit ablaze tonight, the earth glowing in its fiery madness. Without notice, almost overnight, the forest of bones has become a mingling of all things budding, promising, jade. The first leaves gently whisper of things to come...yes...

A change is acomin. 

none of it, all of it

The noise is good. It’s lurid, almost sweetly deafening, high squealing delight. Feet disco above me, pitter-pattering this way and that across the hallway, echoing down in euphonic content. Out the window they swing back and forth, the sky safeguarding them in clusters of perfect white puffiness, only the smallest frames of blue peeking out amongst shapes of porcupines and castles.  I sit and listen. I sit and watch. I sit and smile.

And none of it is mine. 

ghosts

They dance all around me, these ghosts. My wanderlust, my ceaseless friend.  They tell me of a place where flowers bloom in the cracks of concrete, where clouds are palpable and take you places if you dare. Sheer organza drapes my body in fluidity and grace, but I am not in Kansas anymore. These ghosts will fool with their trickery. I have been here before. 

clock on the wall

She sits at the table, waiting for him. Her legs crossed just so, her top leg daintily bobbing nervously. Her honey-colored hair coiffed, not a strand out of place. The wise old mahogany clock on the wall ticks loudly. Each tock weighted with the unsaid, each tock screaming to her what she already knows, what she’s known since their return from Rome. She glances to the door. Nothing. She hesitates leaving her post; she is somehow frozen in this life that became hers. Her eyes slowly fall to the floor. She smoothes over her skirt with her delicate hands and pauses for a moment. She notices silence. Her head tilts as if in puzzlement as she stares to the wall. The ticking and tocking has stopped. In the hush she manages to move. Without haste she makes her way to the clock, lifts her hand to feel the silkiness and persuasiveness of its lines and without faltering, calmly thrashes and batters it to the floor watching it break into a million muted pieces.

Leaving the mess on the cold tiles beneath her, she steps over the shards and walks away in reticence, quietly smiling to herself in silence. Sweet ignorant silence. For now.