Another sunny walk

Another sunny walk to watch anemones bloom in hooded clearings. I am finally able to Identify the call of green woodpeckers and blue herons. I collect flowers in bags with wet paper napkins and proceed to stealing walks into forbidden cottage fields.

Cars swoosh by and bees awake alongside. I tip-toe to their tune. A bluer shade of sea wash ashore, revealing trees admiring birds’ nests in their hair. I find the crushed seashells I picked from the children’s sand castles to be excellent potfillers for miniature cacti.

Yesterday, a pink desert star rose from underneath the tiny beach. It took me by surprise. The way most loves do. Make-believe ones or otherwise.

Just like shadows become clearer in the month of spring. I wave happily to myself walking by. The perfect baseball cap making the sun’s sting gentle on my already freckled nose. Another sunny walk to watch myself bloom in hooded clearings. Make-believe ones or otherwise.

Wayside Love

I have walked in small shoes for days. Back and forth. Sometimes pebbles wear down my socks. Sunny ditches free of frost border roads. I walk alongside them.

Deeper into days that roll over, brush against my blue legs, wanting to be scratched. I bend down to pick up the shiniest stones and store them in my pockets. I tuck beachy sand with broken shells around my beds.

I walk every day. To my room, to the city, to the beach. With my head in gray clouds I search for glimpses of light with shaded eyes. Seagulls watch me from white poles. They scream. Scream. Screaming to be fed by the sea gushing under bridges. I walk on bridges.

Bridges over boats. I look into eyes of stone floating on surf. Smile. Smile to the sea. Smile to me. Before we blow away. Fall into yellow ditches. Fall into wayside Love.

Finding Peace

This week I have been climbing vertical stairs to find moments of ascended peace. It has been an exceptionally sunny week.

In the wayside, a Colt’s Foot brought colors of Spring, I didn’t pick it. I left it to bloom taller. I wore bright pink lipstick to make people smile. Where are they all going in the early morning hours? I am going towards tomorrow.

Glass clear Horizon with frosty breath. Skinny winter sun. Strawberries for breakfast. Blackbirds and little tigers in the woods. Ice breaking around orange mooring poles. Was it a seal tossing white water towards the shore? Or just a sound of what’s to come.

Angels are still asleep underground. I pick feathers to paint with. Brushes are too expensive. Stroke soft hair against my bare skin. The sky opens and my feet start to warm up.

I start walking home. See you again on the sunny road.

Farewell February

February has been a month of quiet reflection, transformative events and farewells. The newness of life has settled and a pattern has emerged.

Favorite spots have been picked and morning walks have turned into poetry.

Dreams are talking loudly while people are whispering. The world remains beautiful despite violent outbursts of tyrants and conspirators.

Birds swim towards temptation and the sea curls into itself and soon it will be spring again and white feathers will carry hope and push us gently over the edge into gold and summer.

Your soul’s shadow

When you find what cast

your soul’s shadow

you will learn the truth

of who you really are.

You can’t destroy anything

You can’t destroy anything

by beating it

with your heart.

Imprisoned Time

Imprisoned Time

is the stuff

of nightmares

it will grow

vulture’s wings

to stay wild.

Falling in Love

Falling in love is like

losing yourself

in someone else’s

heart,

only to find

a different version

of yourself

there,

beautified beyond

recognition.

Poetry

Poetry is

the soul’s

theology.

I choose to love

I choose

to be

open,

to be

willing

to look for

ways

to love

you.

I choose

to forgive,

to understand,

to be generous of

your weaknesses.

I choose

to love

the way

you were,

the way

you are,

the way

you choose

to be

tomorrow.