Tuesday, July 12, 2011


I am not in this picture.

That girl is not me.

I've met her, but she never likes me, at

Sometimes, I grow on her.
Sometimes, not. 

I am probably still at home,
obligated. Eternally third place.

I still look for signs that you miss me.
Find none.   
Why did I never notice, before?


It sneaks up on you
the tiniest of moments
the smallest of acts.

and there. again. a broken heart.

the summer heat, the green shade,
the cool splash of water against your skin

but all this and nothing
all this is loss, again.

it's been an entire year of cruellest Aprils,
falling hard into beauty but finding you are not there.

Not there.

Saturday, July 9, 2011


That is my word of the day.  Sitting on my back porch deck under the oh so green canopy of trees that are filled with happy songbirds, my kids playing nearby, the cat flipping his tail in challenge to the boychild who just avoided an annoyed kitty cat scratch.  It's hot, but every so often there's a slight cool breeze.  I've had one coffee and plan to get another soon. 

Our yard is pretty well screened on all sides by jungle-y vegetation-- a very large clump of bamboo, some vine-draped trees, a neighbor's very tall hedge.  In spite of being in a neighborhood known for small, close-together yards, we have quite the estate back here-- trampoline, pool, kid fort, my plucky fish ponds.  At certain cooler times of the year (or, as now, in the early morning) there's just no place else short of being on a white sand beach that I'd rather be. 

It's been a wild and crazy ride the last few years.  Things seem to be settling down a little bit, and I'm hopeful that we can continue to have moments like this of being purely happy with where I am.