the manic crests and crashes of life. produce fluctuating moods. but when warmer updrafts prevail. latch on. ride that bundle of balloons. their colorful flurry of fun uplifting you to lighter elevations. to moments outside the madness. and when the gravitational pull of reality feels too strong. know. one can always find simple spheres to elevate. and help you feel free.
there’s this thing called hope. we all get it on occasion. comes out of a kind gesture, word, or view. sinks its unrealistic teeth into one’s subconscious. and leaves its rosy residue behind. embedding. waiting until reality resumes to rekindle that optimistic flame. fire. that burns ahead. alight with potential. promising fortunate futures. for those willing to mix hope with action.
first light of a new year washes ashore. paints my world in blues and golds. dawning. it warms the air, the earth, the developing days. cascades its promising power over this solitary start. where a release from before. and a welcome to the now. collide under cotton puffed skies. present. in the 2017 dawn. i vow to embrace every day to come.
a raw open nerve. pulsing. every thought of self-doubt amplified by the echo of negative affirmations. the never, no, not nonsense taking too much time. energy. depleting my core of can, will, and do. orchestrating a struggle for reminders of the high notes. one finds in imperfect life. some days it’s difficult to see beyond the mesh. the barrier. of insecurity.
a darkness is spreading. but with a turn you hit me. consume every space. around in and through me. my celestial obsession. reminder of hope. you golden goddess who breathes energy into wilting wintry souls. i hear you. and fear nothing. armored with the knowledge that your courageous rays rise daily. we will resist this ugliness. band together. and create anew.
she flies from one role to the next. artist. lover. protector. with every encounter adding new skills to her utility belt. this multitasking super heroine thrives in exhaustion. puzzles the pieces of daily compromise. but finds time to hang her cape. momentarily. relax in comforting concoctions. and rejuvenate in stormy sunsets. knowing that tomorrow will call for her ample abilities again.
we each have a path. it twists and winds and spills forth. intertwining with other trails. at times easily swept into the draining effort of comparison. her leaves are thicker. his fruit more vibrant. but those false values hold one back. limit the growth of our own grove. for this journey is our own. sacred. and ripe for every unique bloom.
one foot apprehensively treads before the other. weight is shifted. on to unpredictable planks. the world ahead refocuses. a filter of nerves shades the scene. anxious and excitement bottled under bridges on tracks unknown. entering newness. journeys are walked initially alone. but potential social discoveries populate the path. gaining momentum. forward. awash in a sense of wonder. but mostly nervousness reigns.
the sways and sashays of dizzying dying days of summer. heated moments resulting in pendulum moods. that swing from bloated boredom to glowing elation. and twirl back for another round of emotional roulette. where senses are winners. and in the glowing breeze of august. against the crashing contrast. i feel buoyant. airy. swept into the embers of this season’s tumultuous flame.
repetition is life’s practice. an echo of past and future selves. blending together into a form. familiar. residence for this refugee. a space within that welcomes all versions of this traveler. the seeker. the one who resides in between the beams of brick establishments. takes shelter in herself. learns to bend with each new position. and finds harmony in the chaos.