Good morning new day. What is the scent of today?
Sit down with me in the creperie, the sweet and savory tucked together and nestled on your plate like lessons in life.
Your grown child holds her baby in her lap. You have said goodbye to your lover. Your tea is hot, your heart is shivering. Your world is both vibrant and numb.
Sip coffee with me the garden where the living ivy overtakes brick walls, the solid clay softening as the tiny fingers of the vine grasp daily for a taste of the rays. The courtyard scene is dappled with the sun shining on the grey and the white heads of the ancient ones, these couples, together for what they believe is one lifetime. These regulars, they steady each other, make habits of rituals in the rising each day, the sipping of coffee, the sharing of the front page, the endless reflection, wisdom, appreciation.
The gentle banter of observation erupts with stories of the way-back-whens in response to the infant, someone’s grandchild, oh yes, mine! mewing her needs without reservation. Those baby sounds- the crying, the giggles, the babbling of toddlers all bring to mind the endless opportunities grasped and missed in the raising of their own.
Gentle wind, forgive the intrusion, the decay of my being seeping in, catching, swirling, landing where the lavender fields grow, hiding the whispers of a story which will not be told.
#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web.
There’s a man at a desk, clears it at five, imagines the after-work nest.
There’s a man at the rail, nods with a sigh, sends over a drink for the lady.
So many are waiting, inhaling the chance to breathe air with another,
to roll over and see someone in the light of the morning,
to reach toward,
to tenderly touch the bone of her chin, the line of her nose,
to know if she is what he calls his
to see if she feels like a tomorrow under his steady gaze.
Settle in darling, he says, his elbow anchors her hip, his arm climbs her frame with wrist securely tucked in soothing fashion to hold her in the fold of his protective wing.
#for Reticent Mental Property. Sept 26, 2016.
Trust me with parts of you others do not even know exist I will tender you in cosset and spin ugliness above your head wrap you against void and beneath terror, stoke mercy this is my pledge take my arm take a leap of faith stay your wont of emptiness and insular climb from well […]
via Not all patterns are for life — thefeatheredsleep
I get it.
I get this grin that won’t quit.
I get this little shrug in my shoulders that says, breathe deeply
and hold it tightly
and smell it in his beard
and rest upon the solid shoulder he offers.
Kiss deeply his mouth
and the palms of his creative
Soak in the fragile fierce beauty of all of the unknown, trust in the fit of his hips and the inexplicable connection.
#for Reticent Mental Property. Image courtesy of the web.