2013

Know the Author.

It was about a year ago, almost to this very day that I stumbled upon this book. Battered and shoved between the crevices of a decaying wall, this book, along with two others, sat pinned between the cracks in the wall where no book belongs. So naturally, even though I was walking somewhere with friends, I stopped everything I was doing to rescue these lonesome orphaned books. It isn’t everyday you find books left for trash to bring home. ...

Day 30. The dip and dive of the hummingbird just protecting her young never reached beyond the honeysuckles, where she rested and never woke up. There she lays, the dewdrop queen quieted by butterfly kisses that couldn’t calm the hum of her heart even when the willow brush began to sway like the funeral waltz of a damaged widow’s brigade. This flower ringed beauty was bound by vine too jealous to let her wings keep going so they laid her low leaving her babies up too high even for heaven to bow down and embrace them. Without their mother, how will they survive? ...

Day 29. This tarnished silver never sung the blues like the willow weeping on that late Sunday afternoon.

Day 28. The backfire of an engine is a jarring reality of teeth that grind like chainsaws pulled freshly to life by the hands of one, desiring to devour the life of another with the same greedy eyes of an orphaned child turned from his origins, never to face what he was or acknowledge his past ever again. These hungry eyes are never satisfied.

Sorry forgot again. Day 27. Cry Canary, cry, can’t you smell the fumes? This cave was born to collapse and bring you down too. So sing out what will your heart song sound like?

Day 26. Let me be slow to anger and abounding in grace.

Day 25. The laugh lines on your face have drawn us together like a ripple in a pond where we disappeared, a rock slipping away into the water leaving only the wakes of our being when we used to be two but became one.

Again, sorry forgot to post. Day 24 The warble of a robin egg blue wren is caught in the canopy of my window; kept trapped in a little treasure box for safe keeping for a summer day. But can I cage the sound without the being in a tattered net that cannot hold even the smallest of mysteries?

Sorry, forgot to post. Day 23. Count down with a failing arm of an age old clock that sags beneath the burden of time like a flower left by a graveside that holds its best, longest even though there is no one to see its beauty.