Because that’s how he held me

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holding-hands

His grip was strong,

but tender,

and that’s how he held me,

firm in his grasp, but tender in his emotion.

But it wasn’t just how he held me,

it’s how he saw me.

His look was beyond flesh,

it looked past imperfections.

He just saw me,

for who I was,

under the shroud of my physical form.

He looked into me and,

as his hand held mine,

in that frozen moment,

I became lost in him.

His grip was strong, but tender,

and in that grasp,

now lies my heart.

(image credit)

Rage against the dying of the light

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Swallowtail-Butterfly-on-Lilac-Blossom

The perfect evening sky

is painted by the swaying branches

that continue to brush blue into the waning day.

A cool breeze

carries the scent of the lilacs.

 Dusk approaches,

but day fights for its last moments

before the fireflies seize the night.

 Leaves dance in the wind,

laughing as they are tickled by the currents of spring.

A lone butterfly

floats on the updrafts,

silently raging against the dying of the light.

The sun pulls up the blanket of the horizon,

golds and yellows caress the trees one last time

and the day succumbs

to the sleep of night.

(image credit)

Yes, I can see it. No, I’m not neurotic.

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I’m a cloud watcher.  I can only sunbathe for so long before I feel like I will spontaneously combust (thank you blood pressure medication) so I move my overheated body under the canopy of my deck umbrella and watch the clouds go by.  They never cease to amaze me.  Whether it is the pattern in their wisps or the shapes I see in their billowy contours, I can cloud gaze for hours.

I have not been able to watch the clouds lately,  however, because the sky has been a solid, monochromatic grey.  Perhaps because I am so accustomed to looking beyond what I really see, recently I have been seeing faces in the strangest locations.

This morning I rolled over, still shaking off the remnants of my slumber, and faced my closet.  A shirt that was at the top of the laundry basket was piled in such a way that the aged face of a man stared back at me from the shirt’s folded elbow.  For some reason, I couldn’t avert his keen focus on me and I stared back with the same intensity.

He seemed familiar to me.  And this is not the first time I have discovered a genial visage in a random place.  It happens more frequently than I should probably admit.

I have since discovered that this phenomenon has a name – Pareidolia.  There are many people, like me, who have the ability to see faces or animals in a benign object.  An extreme example is the woman who sold a 10-year old grilled cheese on eBay for $28,000.00 because it supposedly had the image of the Virgin Mary on it.  Some people see a cinnamon bun below, others see Mother Teresa.

mother-teresa

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Whatever the reasoning behind this strangely named anomaly, the writer in me enjoys the visits from these odd characters.  I’m sure one day they will insert themselves into a story line somewhere along my writing journey and I will be grateful for their intrusion into my reality.

Time for audience participation – cinnamon bun or Mother Teresa?

Never let me go

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otters

I held you in a dream.

You became a part of me,

as if my body never ended

and you were merely

an extension of me.

And though I felt like I was floating away,

you were there

to pull me back to you,

to hold me in my slumber,

to keep me in your embrace,

to never let me go.

(image credit)

**I saw a video of these otters slowly drifting apart and coming back together.  They inspired this poem.

Spark to a flame

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fire butterfly

My curiosity ignites.

My burning question is nourished

purely by the fuel of my deep desire

to know,

to experience,

to feel the brush of romance

on the canvas that is my skin.

My heart burns

with a yearning

to find you.

~~

microstories261

(image credit)

Optimism is contagious

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I’ll admit I stole my subject line from a Maxwell House commercial but it is an adage that resonates with me.  One of my goals for the year 2016 was to start every day with a positive attitude.  It’s going to end as well as it began – successfully optimistic.  Some days are more difficult than others to maintain that joyful outlook but, even under the stress that lurks in the dark corners, I still look for and embrace that light of optimism.

window2

It’s really not difficult waking content and rising to meet the morning when the light streams through my curtain-free window and falls on the face of my dog.  She is notably glad to see me come back into consciousness and her smile is the first breath of happiness I inhale each morning.  The smell of Hazelnut Vanilla coffee brewing is a vital, but distant, second.

Attitudes are contagious and energy can be vicariously passed, similar to an unseen as a spirit moving through the shadows, and the vital force it leaves behind is just as palpable.  It is constantly but invisibly lingering in the air and the mood that is portrayed is unconsciously absorbed by others.  I know how much a person with a negative energy can affect me and I want to achieve the polar opposite.

Wouldn’t it be great to feel that optimism and zest for life is contagious and it is passed unwittingly to the people you interact with on a daily basis?  They may not even realize the source of their uplifted spirit but their newly found smile has the potential to create a ripple effect.

Attitude is a little thing that makes a big difference.  ~Winston Churchill