Simple pleasures, small tasks done with grace, tiny pinpoint ripples sending subtle love through space, the echo of happiness left in trace, of a lover's hand or the way peace settles when a harsh winds gone and still, Summer, heat has taken its place.
Tuesday, 9 June 2015
Startled from the present, some sort of memory skims sideways into my heart, sharp like a shard or a splinter of old cracked wood, cold cracked and jagged, claws its way to my soul. It's a memory, a memory, just the past, just a thought, an arc from her to here. It means nothing. Nothing. Let it go. It wanes.
Thursday, 4 June 2015
Its not Adam I seek, for he was weak and sought to shape and force the heart to contort and subjugate in deference to his mighty sense of entitlement, hell bent to destroy all subtleties of thought between the I am and the I am nought. No not Adam with his foolish indiscretion and his eagerness to abandon his woman for a weaker less indomitable force. A tamed canal of locks and wiers, stagnant pools and fear, over the tumbling force of my river. I do not seek dominion at all. I seek the man who stands in grateful awe at the delicacy my free flow performs, the tiny petals of overgrown form the lush and waving meadows over tight clipped lawn.