Category Archives: Prose

Just when I think

Just when I think I have it, I find that I don’t. I probably never will.

Waiting for magic to happen is the worst thing you can do, because while you’re waiting, magic is springing up all around you. You have to allow yourself to see it. Ask for it.

Is this a dark time in history? Or, is there more light shining on who and what we are.

Magic is in birdsong. Listen all you can.

Birds for Thought

She stood outside the door, holding the dog’s leash, waiting for the pretty chocolate lab to do her business. She looked up in time to see two large crows winging their way across the sky. Her eyes followed them until they were out of site. Then two more passed, and then three. 
There was something profound about the way these birds floated across the sky. Maybe the profundity didn’t reside with birds, but in her observation of them. She felt that she had witnessed something holy. She didn’t have a religious practice, so holy wasn’t the right word. There was just something about experiencing those birds that made her feel connected to the universe, and to her, the universe was God. There were days when she believed in God and there were days when the existence of an all-powerful deity seemed impossible. She sometimes wondered if the universe, or if she herself was real.

The dog finished what she was doing, and responding to the tug at her leash, trotted back into the house.

  

A Pillar on High

I’m feeling like someone who is sitting atop a 50 foot pillar. The pillar sways in the wind, threatening to fling me into the empty oblivion. I cling to it desperately.

But what good is it to be perched here so high? I can see you, but when I shout to start a conversation, you don’t hear. You go about your important business, and I can only watch with envious eyes.

Perhaps I can summon the courage to loosen my grip, and see what happens.

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Secrets

She had too many secrets to keep. Most of her secrets weren’t at all interesting, but she kept them close believing her soul should be a mystery. The secrets were wound tightly around her heart like duct tape on a leaky pipe, an insufficient and temporary stop gap.

One day, her secrets began to peel away because her fluttering heart needed to beat hard and strong. This is a heart that would not be confined. It pushed and pounded until the secrets were stripped away.

That is when she came to know the world.

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Space

I need some time, and some space.
And then there’s energy. I need more energy.
You see, there are so many things that I want to do.
There are things I want to build. Beautiful things I want to give birth to and then nurture, and then release.

I have hope. I have all kinds of hope, but that hope only causes more wonderful ideas to bubble to the surface.

The bubbles come up, and then pop, and what was inside of those bubbles might float away if I don’t at least make a start.

Write it down. Write everything down until you have a big fat pulpy stack. The stack will start to yellow and decay if you don’t act-if I don’t act.

I said at the beginning that I need some space and time, but I think both are somehow the same. I don’t know how that helps.

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I have a secret

The secret is that I might like the Fall
I might like the way the sky looks when red and orange leaves dance
playfully across it
I might enjoy wearing sweaters
and seeing pumpkins
and opening the car window on my drive across town
Don’t tell anyone
I’m known as a complainer about Fall
and a Winter whiner
I’m the one who declares that she wants two seasons, Spring and Summer
Please don’t tell anyone that I’m getting soft on this cool weather stuff
That I thought today was beautiful
I’ll deny it to the very end

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