Her very often, “where I wish I was right now,” how it’s been a while, way too long since she walked on a stretch of sandy beach, endless almost infinite shifting soothing, beneath her feet.


A handful of sand, magnified 300 times, individual grains highlighted, diverse and beautiful. Bits of pink coral and black polished rock and iridescent shell.


That picture of herself, there on the beach. Lemon cotton and lopsided smile and long long salt tangled hair. After that day she’d gone on to live her life, one step away at a time, away from that picture of herself. Until the grains all but disappeared.


Still, lemon cotton and lopsided smile and long long salt tangled hair, and so so so much more.


A handful of sand.

Strawberry Moon

I missed the Strawberry Moon.  Not because I forgot about it. On the contrary, I watched the sky throughout the day, took measure of the clouds, wished and willed them into clear blue. But it wasn’t meant to be. I sought consolation in the fact that there are many other wonders of this world for me remaining likely nevers. It did not help, because there are other once hoped likely nevers that I am not missing. A loved one’s illness. Bitter divorce. Seemingly monumental struggles with mental health. No, I missed the Strawberry Moon. A once in a lifetime, that held a lot of significance for me, I mourned, as I tried to fall asleep amid thunder and lightening. But it was still there, I promised myself. That Strawberry Moon. High above the dark and gray. Still shining over me.


Yesterday walk, and to happen, by accident, to see quick stepping flight the up ahead, a young one, hand covering mouth, stifling a sob, so like yesterday me, and oh yes, oh yes, I get that kind of heart ache, and nothing, nothing you can say or do but just leave them be, because whatever it is, you know you must allow them their alone, to grieve.

Bare Bones

This is what you get with me.

Generous curves, and gentle rolls of lavender vanilla lotion scented skin.  Legacy of heredity, and childbirth, and too much chocolate.

This is what you get with me.

Twenty plus years of traditional and trusting in the value of such, and crushed that I would someday have to defend in the choice I made, my worth, to anyone.

No, this is what you get with me.

Soft, and kind, and gentle in my spirit. Not one to set the world on fire. In the traditional sense.

I never will.


Black stockings, and laughing like crazy, and a fiery spirit, when I care.

I don’t want the whole world.

This is what you get with me.


For International Women’s Day

Lost and Found

Ship of one hundred pieces.  And each and every piece replaced, over time.  What was the dilemma again? Whether the current ship counted as the original ship? She considered this idea in reverse, tracing with the tip of her left index finger, the long crooked years ago old scar running the length of the top portion of her right index finger.

Dismantling the past.

Digging through the trash, that’s how she’d cut herself.  On pieces of broken glass whilst trying to second thought reclaim an old shirt. Reluctant relinquishing. The first piece of  herself to go.

Still, an original scar.


I’m this week (last minute) linking up with Tara’s 100 word challenge, here:

This was fun!



I keep, beside my bed, an empty picture frame.  Silver and glitter and shining. Sun across snow.  I got it to hold the future that exists in my someday, when I shall look back and say, I was like a palm tree once. Storm bent. Nearly flattened to the ground. But now, sun and silver and glitter and shining again. Tall, in a brighter season.