Was it Kundera?

Who is the writer proposing that true love is made of freedom? No rules. No conformity. No expectations. True acceptance of another in failings, flailing, flat-lining on mistake after mistake.

Who is it who writes about love and its ability to thrive when given free reign? The understanding that holding on to some ideal is only going to tether the love you have created and drown it under the rock of burden.

Let go the ropes of tradition.

Let go the desire you temper for Sunday’s pew.

Let go the callings of should do’s and shouldn’ts.

Let go the anchor of security. Find the heart, beating wild, in you.


Breathe freely the love of acceptance. Give abandon its place in your world.

#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web. Posted September 18, 2017


Shoulders back, chin juts forward

We wish for freedom from the tethers of tedium

and then wait upon that cliff, clinging,

until it crumbles, unravels,

beneath our feet.

While hiding behind process, weighing options, measuring convention,

we know we haven’t truly planned to leap at all-

our own volition: weak.

Instead we wait for the falling,

after the forced push from behind,

and then have the balls to look over our shoulder and blame



Don’t give me an out, just tell me it is done; And let me make my own foolishness.


#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web.


My friend tells me all the most important things in life are learned through painful experience, her suffering necessary before the enlightenment. Hours of crying, raw awareness of failures, deep sadness and brutal truths.


The contrast of missing someone makes us appreciate the return; absence makes the heart grow fonder…

Many believe someone comes across hard times, pain, illness and loss because a higher power has something to teach them.

I reject it all.


We learn in hard times because we strive to pull something good out of the mess. The good is always there, the mess, fleeting.

We learn from hope- that belief in something good, something so far beyond pain and sorrow.

The human spirit tells us today will be a better day. When we listen to those internal, often silenced voices…when we give our heart’s response the credit,  cut off the attribution to pain we feel the sunshine, hear all the music, balance atop our spinning world. Let’s stop glorifying pain with a capital P.

Yes, sometimes we have to sit in the middle of the mess and feel, and own, and accept the great sadness- and then be still – so we can hear the lesson.


It’s not the sadness that is required for the learning; it’s the listening.


#for Reticent Mental Property. Image courtesy of the web.



Change opens doors  to new beginnings….

but the turning of the knob,

the creaking of the hinge,

the stepping over the threshold without tripping

requires tender care of the heart,

attentiveness to each muscle’s


analyses of the physical and mental coordination


to manage the body with respect to another

passing through the same doorway,

in opposite direction;

each entering

-centering within-

the tomorrows

of very different worlds.


It was the slow loss of tenderness when fully aware of the speed of his indifference.


#for Reticent Mental Property. Image courtesy of the web.



My sleep-filled eyes take in the constant that is dawn. Through a treeline, budding with green, with trunk and limb and twig still black with the cold of winter, I gratefully accept the interruption of day.

I wake to a sky drowning in hues of orange, a soothing contrast to the grey of the frost absorbing the edges of moonset, clamoring and clinging to the last shreds of night’s end.

The stunning daylight is tenacious; she stubbornly saves her reveal until the outstretched arms, under the new dome of blue secure the last light of the night.

Welcome my Nature God, and your generous dousing of cyan to color the day.

Bring me your sunrise oh glorious life. Take me to borrowed tomorrows timed by the reliable turn of the planet and season.

Open my eyes wide to the gifts of the living. Wash me in rainstorms, introduce fertile earth to the air.

Let me nurture within me, these moments of transition; free me from winter, feed me spring’s song.


Give me crocus to worship, tender-hearted lovers to hold; a coupling seduction until I grow old. 


#for Reticent Mental Property. Image courtesy of the web.

The Crane Wife – Book Club April 2015

Cover art for The Crane Wife by Patrick Ness



PaintNite-Drink Creatively

The Crane Wife is a story rooted in Japanese folklore and explores the pull of greed and the transformation and growth experienced in ordinary life as extraordinary people cross our paths.

Author Patrick Ness explores the dangers of relationships- business and personal – which leave one contributor exposed and vulnerable to exploitation, to exhaustion, when an unequal partnership persists. 

The Crane Wife is Kumiko. She is one of those rare souls with a presence; she intimately knows, nurtures and inspires every person she meets.

Her complex feathered creations add to her husband George’s artistic paper cuttings and together their combined efforts stir interest, investment and great profit while simultaneously eroding a newly forged and tender marriage bond.

Each chapter introduces a story-tile which leads the reader through the ancient legend while simultaneously weaving Ness’ characters through his interpretation of self-sacrifice in a story filled with healthy and unhealthy relationships.

Explore more: http://www.theguardian.com/books/2013/apr/20/crane-wife-patrick-ness-review

One of the enduring gifts of Ness’ book is his introduction to the physical sound of emotion. Unable to shake the painful calling of the injured crane, the call of life choices which transcend our natural resistance to change, The Crane Wife impresses even the most critical of readers in our crowd. Certainly, the sounds of temptations and truth linger in my mind.

I really, really love you.

His words caress the nape of her neck, so softly whispered as he holds her. 

She is painfully aware of his tender attentions.  She inhales him, she tastes him,  in the sweet spill of his breath as his words pour softly, sensually, into her naked ear.

Willing to drop every bit of her defenses she lets him in, each time a little more deeply. She may be hurt ten-fold but she cannot resist this risk.

The keening escapes her lips as she accepts, then owns, her connection with him.

It is a sound unlike any other.  The spring wind captures and carries her cry from the grassy banks, bathed in sunlight and dewdrops to the grounded rocks of the brook, and back to the nurturing, nascent, earth.   

Washed in waters released from yesterday’s ice her lovesong is lifted- wet and fragrant- to the verdant blossoms of the old oaks on the shore. 


The silence and smells of the dawn air are all broken; his traditional vows fall: obsolete. The grey seasons of his predictable tomorrows are now undeniably interrupted; and she responds with a sweet touch to his cheek.  


#for Reticent Mental Property.  Image courtesy of the web with note to attend to the incredible capture of the story tiles imagined by Ness in his descriptions of George’s paper cuttings and Kumiko’s contribution of feathered and complex additions to each piece. 

Sky Man



A little lingering of fingertips- they travel ahead of my hips- doing a dance of seduction across his strong shoulder.

A little slip of my hand and then my wrist, before it ducks under your elbow… and then the drape of my arm finds its place over your side.

A little scootch, a little settle, a little hip slip gets me closer.

A little wiggle, my foot, follows your calf, then the ankle, finds a way to insert itself in-between yours.

My breath on your neck, quickly followed by kisses, my lust tells a tale to your slumbering ear.

Wakey, wakey, my darling; stretch and roll into my morning. Let me take you to sunrise and back.

-But I don’t want to get up.

-Don’t want to get out of our bed.

-Don’t want to start the day, ever, without holding ,deeply, the length of you – just a little bit longer- to acknowledge the beautiful strength of this fit.


She rolled to the left, threw back the covers, stood shaking the sleep from her hair.  And then stretching her palms, she counted her blessings, reached skyward, then hugged herself gently in the dawn of the day. 


#for Reticent Mental Property. Image courtesy of the web.