i believe in the unrelenting poetry of life

i believe in the unrelenting poetry of life.
of the deep depths of science.
of the morning bird that calls out to her mate in the evening, shrill and beautiful against the dusky sky.
I believe that Death comes uncalled for and unmade for.
                      robbing beds of lovers and cribs rocked in grief.

i believe in the unrelenting poetry of life. 
of promises never filled forgiven,
of all thing made anew when under clean sheets hung to dry out on the line in the midsummer sun.
of eyes closed, lashes filled with the motes of memory, drawing deep in sleep.

i believe in boken hearts & Newton & Einstein & Darwin & Louis Leaky,
in the darkest depth of black holes and in an earth not formed yesterday,
but in nanoseconds of a moment billions upon billions of years ago
in a collapsing clap off the shoulders of God.

I believe in the unrelenting poetry of life.

happy equinox, happy easter, JOYEUSES PÂQUES, happy, happy day to everyone. xxoo


PS. this one may look innocent, however, she is on the hunt right now for easter eggs to devour before the boys get a chance to even look. it is her one, once a year fault. her brother however, who is often naughty, still has horrid gas from the chocolate covered almonds he ate earlier in the week. but that, for him, is par for the course. 

13/52

 

there is an exhaustion you have at the end of a day well spent. 

           an exhaustion in the quietness of your body when every single molecule has been pushed 

           and pulled and exercised. 

           there is a quiet that comes in the knowing that at the end of the day, it has been well spent.

           well spent in the sun. 

           well spent mucking up the sand.

           well spent freezing your toes in not quite warm, but ever so inviting water. 

well spent shivering under a towel waiting for the cocoa that you hoped was packed into a thermos, into a bag, onto the beach; cocoa in a thermos, tight lidded and steaming, waiting to be drunk. 

          an exhaustion from well spent time 

          chasing birds and and the trails of snail sand foam across the crunching crushed stones of 

                           a thousand waves. 

making yourself incredibly happy...or not

I wonder about all sorts of happiness. I wonder what brings me joy & what brings others bliss. I wonder what makes me happy now & what will make me happy tomorrow. I am sure that when I was younger, I knew happiness: pure light filled happiness that just fed my soul and grew my ego.

Now that I am older, I have certainly not put away my childish things but I understand better, from a constructive, adult-ish point of view, that there are layers of happiness out there.

Layers as lovely as an iced cake for your birthday & layers of joy from the rotting compost of sorrow, decomposing, nurturing and fertilizing a better tomorrow.

My children are mixed into those layers. The layers of icing on the cake and the composting pile in the backyard. They mix into my own happiness. They mix into my soul and shake all those clearly defined borders of who I am and where I am going.  I know for certain they have a list of what would make them happy.
It is long, especially when you