A Place of One’s Own

falling

 

There are so many things to love about this place; so many reasons not to move —
the feel of grass against the back of my legs, the
damp smell of earth, the leaves overhead
silvered wings of butterflies.
My eyes are slivers peering
at the world through a curtain of flowering stalks
whose buds are beginning to bloom.

I am a child again; here is my holy.

mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa

 

 

We Could Be Giants

The path ahead

They stood on the bridge and thought about what came next. The slant sun warm on their backs, while the river below held its breath, waiting for their decision.

What if this is not the path we are supposed to take? He asked.

What if it is? She answered.

And after leaning awhile in silence, they pulled themselves up in tacit agreement and pressed on ahead.