I started
to ask myself
when did it begin
How many days?
365 in
most years, so
has it been 1,825,000 – or more
even science doesn’t know the answer
Some would say
quantifying things is important
even necessary – but
Life might be about each
moment –
how would one possibly
find a way to tally them all?
So, while
I begin
with these words
it is about neither a beginning nor ending.
A friend once asked, “What ? makes today different from any other day” But to digress for just a moment I keep struggling with What is a friend? For all the attributes one might scribe on a list – and conversely all the things a friend should / would never do – above all friendship…
Funny isn’t it how late afternoon is also early evening and is (just as surely) – night – depending on the time of year In the scrapbook…
Playfully she folded her hands around his proposing marriage (though he was almost a generation removed) then just as quickly distanced herself from the thought tossing a little laugh over her shoulder This wisp of a child turned her back early on convention – instead held court with small wooden hearts special stones, crystal rocks…
Love is a place Balmy days blinding storms times of vigor – and drought Sometimes we choose love sometimes, love chooses us I have never fully understood it. For some, love is less a matter of choosing it is just the place where one lives There are people who seem to float through life untouched…
At the end of the second floor hall was a step (up) and door leading to the third floor Among the small spaces created by the eaves I could hide and feel snug except Just before Christmas when it was off limits Straight ahead the attic peak held a random assortment of boxes, suitcases, furniture…
I know I hear the silence more and some times catch myself listening to cars approaching from up the street Sitting on the front steps at night the stars are so beautiful, they almost make me cry Some times I can’t explain how it feels.