Irreverent Eloquence

it is the end of the night at the start of the week w ith a list so long it is still incomplete seasons in flux, early plans in the works years in advance, cluttered thoughts in clustered bursts.  turn the engine to off though the music plays on trapped in time, lost in mind  stay still for one more song     lovely lights beckon, you are home, please come in.                                                                                              I  do know what is waiting, just not where to begin  then the song is over and the silence starts  and the weight of the life descends on my heart how long shall i wait? how long to delay?              minutes more is all until another day  endless peace in the silence, serenity in the dark;  no decisions to make while I leave myself in Park.  

  the days so short and dark too quickly the chill and wind, cut and dry to capture and hold any warmth is quite tricky layers on waiting for snow to fly thin rays through the day bring no reprieve, no reply, for the black and silent night  hope for all the glittering, glowing, white, warm, and knowing, make our home full of winter light

          We got away this weekend, the kids and I, just across the state line to Wisconsin for a couple of days in the sunshine. It's a short enough drive with diversions of all types, and we have a few very budget friendly options that fill our time. This trip we shared a hotel room and with two nights of togetherness and quiet, our daytime needed space to stretch our legs and run free.  Witches Gulch was calling to me and after twenty minutes of driving and navigating, I thought we had found the trail to get there. The littlest one had fallen asleep in the last few minutes on the road and I spent some time cajoling him to wakefulness and then played some nature games to boost the mood.           I don't know if there is a better place to be than wandering in the wilderness with my people. One can start a song and the others join in, "can't go over it, can't go through it, gotta go under it." And then we are all challenged to limbo under a branch or clamber 

          It was a long day today. I took a drive after dark for a moment to myself. I am blessed that the kids hold space for me. Home is quiet when I return, with the windows closed, most of the lights already turned out, everyone settled in bed. deep breath, silently 'hello the house'.                                                                                I peek in and see the youngest, asleep in his bed mid-story.    tight smile, shake head. I climb the narrow stairs to wish goodnight to the oldest that I am certain is still awake. White noise of the ocean plays while fans try to move the stuffy air. A curtain of fairy lights fade and brighten to the waves of sound.  raised eyebrows and bite the lip.   This reminds me of a dancing flower I had when I was young, which would sway and jiggle when we would sing and giggle.    C atalog that memory in the bank of things I may not find time to mention; I know they would love to hear it, probably another day.   Drowsy smi

The cast iron pans pile up in the sink Left side, They were rusted already don't worry. Weeks they have sat; "I will wash them," I think And yet still they wait and I tarry.  Papers are jumbled in cardboard and sacks Dining table, on top and below, Months of collecting in cluttered array...  "I will sort them," I mutter as I walk away,  carrying baskets of clean clothes as I go. It is chaos and not, living here in this house.  It is messy and yet organized.  It is loud and intense and I'm not qualified most days,  but I look on with pride. 

  I cannot get out all the words inside my head, all the issues that need to be teased apart and the ideas that are still unsaid. There is a bottle neck, a block, or a sense of simple ineptitude that stops everything from flowing lately.  There are moments of pure feeling, a rawness of emotion that launches a statement piece, a title at least, and a springboard for more. Then a breath comes through, a second too long, and the edge of the cutting words and ferocity of the sentiment are dulled. It's like I've lost the "write mood" to sit and let it out.  The space is clear, the page is blank and calling for me to start. It beckons me in and yet I stall. No witty quips or descriptive alliterations are tripping out, clicking the keys and running on without proper punctuation and all the wrong prepositions. It's a frustrating white space that I long to fill. I want to document these days, these thoughts, these feelings and I want to share. I feel trapped and silenced a