Of you, of you, Dear

To  write to have a thought to breathe to think to be to live in this world where there is wind where there is life and death where we are. Us. People.  Existing and being in one space and thinking of being in another where perhaps there is someone else existing at the same moment. Knowing we are small and being of course quite large. Rivers are flowing and music is drifting in ears if someone doesn’t see the river becoming inspired and making the music real the ears do not enjoy this. Tapping and tracing like copying a cat or rather to be one itself, not knowing what cats copy sure is to be it will never be known. Sort of like when whales leap from oceans over caps of white on top of swells of blue having no reason at all for it, of course.  Whales shouldn’t need a reason however they do have some of the time. Eating keeps alive those that must also drink of fluids, fluids become of this, at the mention of which some cringe. Conscience of mine twas unconscious  at the time…no matter the cricket was there so lend your ears to someone, ought not to be selfish . whizzing and humming with whirls in between seems a busy sort of thing hardly a calm could come of it yet that’s where it was found in her  mind. Green that you might find in a field with no pansies grown for them to see. Now shut your eyes and remember to be.

some pictures I took:

a blanket to keep you warm

scratchy sheets are no good at soaking up tears or comforting you.

they don't make you feel warm and safe like a soft blanket would.

summer storms offer no relief from the heat, the rain is just as warm as the air.

empty promises bring more hurt than no words at all.

scratching my back until I fell asleep, then tucking me in and kissing my head.

telling me tails that taught me lessons and took me on adventures far away.

playing every game I could possibly imagine even if you were absurdly bored.

making my lunch every time I cried I was hungry, and keeping me safe and warm.

Grandmas never break promises they never make plans they cant meet.

they always find the missing sock and remember how you like your sandwich cut.

grandmas dont lie and never are late, patiently waiting for you.

grandmas comfort and protect just like a soft blanket would. 

Le Tour

The tour de france is on again and I am happy and I love it. The tour is just... July, its exciting and exhilarating and inspiring but at the same time its comforting. The sound of Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwin excitedly narrating the race is one of the most familiar and welcomed sounds of my summer. The whirring of bicycle chains, the intensity of each rider, the strategy that goes into each stage of the tour, roar of the emphatic fans, the terror of the crashes, the pure joy of the victor of each stage, the look of myrth that flits across they're face when they pass the line, it all just entirely encompasses the tour for me. Each rider has a different purpose in the team working together to make one flawless cohesive unit. For as long as I can remember my July mornings have been filled with the excitement of the tour and Lance Armstrong's upsets in it, punctuated by the celebratory screams and sympathetic moans of my own family and friends watching just as intently as the fans in France. I wouldn't have it any other way. I am a creature of habit, and the tour de france is a habit I am particularly proud of having.

when the stars took their turn

if a bird could fly with a wish on its wing through the clouds deep into the sky and keep on til the sun was done and the stars took their turn dancing through the night. then instead of on a star a child wished on a flame so the bird took it up in the day to the place where all wishes are pondered and looked at most carefully to decide which one will come true. the bird could sing a song to help one along for the child who wished for something selfless not for a pony or doll or new model plane but for something much more close to heart. the child who wished that everyone near and far could hear a beautiful song.

makes me want to jump around

hot shiny sun that warms my face.

hot shiny sun that burns my feet as I fun across the sand.

hot shiny sun that turns my shoulders red.

hot shiny sun that scares away the rain.

hot shiny sun that wakes me in the morning.

hot shiny sun that dries up all the dew.

hot shiny sun that only heats the top layer of the pool. 

hot shiny sun that melts my popsicle so sticky.

hot shiny sun that makes me sweat while I run.

hot shiny sun that makes us feel alive.

hot shiny sun that makes us go outside.

hot shiny sun that makes me put my shades on.

hot shiny sun that makes me miss running through the sprinklers.

hot shiny sun that makes me want to jump around.

hot shiny sun that makes me want my best friends near me.

hot shiny sun that compliments crashing waves so nicely.

hot shiny sun that makes all flowers bloom so lovely.

hot shiny sun that makes fun shadows while its rising.

hot shiny sun that makes lovely colors while its setting.

hot shiny sun that means summer is finally here.

hot shiny sun that I love so very much.

My words could make worlds

I would love to write a book and make others care
have ideas what with people I can share
dream a thought make new beings out of air
be the creator of it all write where I should choose
no one but me can decide what my world will be
I could have not just one sun but three
the whole planet sinking in a rocking sea
In my book anything would be possible
If you believe it then it is so
you have nowhere to be and nowhere to go
time has no meaning there's just ebb and flow
in the place I will imagine magic is the norm
Fly if you wish and touch the tallest tree
bend like a river around the rock with me
lay like the moss does and be forever free
no matter what you choose always keep a dream
and what if it was more than a dream what if my writings were real what if like harold and his magic crayon whatever I wrote came true. I could do what I want with just my words on paper and anything could happen, oh what a world that would be. And even so in the world we are now my words could make worlds and make all of it real for with a little imagination anyone can believe.

Wouldn't that be Loverly

I think people used to love differently. That is to say I think love was something more pure and earnest in times long ago. Maybe my perception of love is skewed, but from what I have read, heard, seen, and experienced people just loved differently than they do now. Love was always portrayed as this unyielding, uncontrollable thing. Now though it seems like so many people view it as an antiquated ideal, reminiscent of an earlier time.

Like a mere shadow of what it used to be. I am not entirely cynical with my views on love in fact its quite the opposite seeing this change in people's ability or rather inability to show love has made me want to find that undying and untamable love. It doesn't even have to be in me I would just be so happy to glimpse it in anyone. I think the change is obviously societal, we are constantly encouraged to be tougher and show less emotion, which leads me to believe that underneath all the hard exteriors people are just waiting to love like people used to. I sincerely hope that is the case. I actually believe that too. After all who doesn't love to be in love?