Priorities

Person 1: "Can you share with me one of your most meaningful life experiences?"

Person 2: "I was born."

Art

Sweetheart staunchly cut her bangs,

spiky roof on her forehead now hangs

crooked and quirky, all little-girl style,

her dear handiwork -- and beneath it,

bright smile.

Claiming the Dawn

"The canvas isn't broad enough!" thought I,

and with the sunrise I jumped up,

taking my hives and my shredded past

out for a ride 

to catch the dawn,

soul expanding with the horizon

to the tunes of pre-Thanksgiving Christmas songs

("Do You Hear What I Hear?"  I do!  I do!),

drumming my pen on the wheel,

wanting to write, drum, and drive all at once;

and the morning bustle was still there

(I had to check) --

trails of cars, headlights streaming in the morning light,

school buses pausing as mine used to do.

Thrilled to be part of the world's pulse was I,

and the clock started ticking again --

this time for me! -- my morning, my sun, my ride --

and back up the driveway I drove,

glowing from the harpsichord rhapsody

of "The Gordian Knot Untied" on 105.9 . . .
needing to celebrate. 

Furtive chase of the dawn completed,

I made the morning coffee

at 8:30 a.m. today 

for the first time in eight years --

two scoops, French Roast organic.

(Better make that four.)

November Spring

Water dripped in sparkles

as the sun,

cushioned in blue and white,

blazed coolly

through the thawing day.

And the knowing went on,

fluid thoughts

cresting in peaks of melting snow,

glistening moments of love

showing up the flat grays

of indifference;

shady spots sheltering

rare snapshots of silence

in its varied states and meanings,

sun-warmed spots holding

tender vignettes of affection.

The knowing moved forward

with the day,

as the light flickered 

from tall window to wall

and leapt with the joyful

motion 

of life living itself.