Feel the warmth of sun,love, and laughter.
Coffee hot, milk from the local dairy.
Toodle through the woods with the pups. Tis the season for them to disappear into great mounds of leaves only to pop out and galavanting onward.(Little dogs, one blends into the scenery a bit too well!)
Snuggle in with a book – after finishing some work. And yes, so grateful that it’s work that is mostly fun for me.
Maybe a fire later.
The other 364 celebrated.
I wrote about Mother’s Day, but the draft was lost.
Perhaps the Universe was suggesting I release the hurt, anger, and disappointment that so often accompanies these parents’ days?
I am neither mother nor wife.
I do not need these roles
to define me,
to structure my existence,
to validate my being,
except when I do.
I am ok,
So long silent.
Though part of me aches to put words to light — those thoughts and emotions yearning to feel the sun,
another part hides in everyday shadows.
Buried by everyday – the rubble of busyness, the cacophony of electronic assaults, the paralysis of despair.
Ok, so that’s a bit of hyperbole.
I want to spend time in thought, weave thoughts into words, put forth these afghans for others to toss upon the ground for a stolen siesta, wrap up in for warmth and comfort, spread across the sand and lounge in the sun’s brilliance.
To achieve such, I Must Write
for me, for you, for life. (First hyperbole, now melodrama — sounds like English 101. How trite.)
Regrettably these lofty thoughts seem contradictory to the compulsory academic writing that demands my attention and haunts me … for at least another year.
But perhaps, I will nurture this wee rebellion, this self-indulgent (or self-fulfilling, depends on one’s perspective) escape from should do.
Tapping out thoughts once more – from me to you.
(c) CMD / Creekside Whispers 2015
Moonlight illuminates this empty space.
Starlight telegraphs news of distant worlds.
Daffodils fight through the detritus of winter.
Squigglies slink along the creek’s floor.