Always, Love

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Sometimes people don’t realize what they’ve been offered, is room to grow,

space to breathe, heal, try something new, make decisions, and even complete final drafts.

Care: It isn’t always a verb. ‘Tis also a noun. The provision towards what is necessary; to apply consideration to a situation to avoid further damage or risk.

The beauty in love – space to grow – is in the offer to step aside in hopes of growth succeeding. Knowing full well everything may change, and we no longer matter.

Trust is felt, and when it isn’t given in return, we sense the void – feel the lack of – quite like someone’s arms length we clung to for years knowing we shouldn’t.

Love is the color of amber, to me, quite like every color squeezing in together, without erasing one for another in hopes of a happy ending.

Musings

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drove this afternoon,
so I wouldn’t have to listen to my thoughts
the music helped, but I keep thinking on how everything has changed.

no, not just foliage within the trees or in the depths of the ditches, but in all cases.
there’s an old homestead I wanted to take pictures of, my destination was set for the day. Go back and visit what makes sense, Aud.

as I stopped to turn in, a wedding was just letting out,
I smiled at their choice of location. Country, prairie and simple seems easy.
how fun to imagine his stare and all the dresses, the devotion and all the extras.

the children are safe after a weekend with their father, pleasantries were extended,
college life in full swing and real life looks good on them even from afar, babies no longer, maybe now momma
should breathe.

as night settles in – outside – I gave thanks for the light of the moon, peeking through the leaves still green,
as bright as a headlamp, it would seem, and brought with it an element of peace.

my prayers for you the same today as yesterday, and I’ll visit them again with each tomorrow.
yes, so much is changing and maybe it’s time,
yet I’m fully aware, even with faith in our Lord, I am frightened and full of sorrow.

Assumption

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he found me sitting, legs crossed
black leggins with a bit cut out
just where attraction begins

he smelled all around me,
even the book I was holding.
he offered static pause so I could watch, his energy and legends felt deep within me.
I wasn’t as terrified as most
would have been
his presence came through peacefully
and i found myself worshiping him.

looking back he wandered off slowly, maybe
sensing the aroma of another or giving up on me
and I was left to assume

which is never good.

Satire 

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when springtime disappoints
and autumn refuses to speak,
paint a word picture; create poetry.
write of summertimes lost,
oh, how does it go:
lemons and lemonade…something.
or maybe,
winter’s production of an early snow:
verdant and virgin frost,
yes, two Vs – funny.
take me to where optimists dream
and abandon me there, leave me be.