Neither too little nor too late

Neither too little, nor too late, I pick up my pen, my brush, my heart and my hearth and wander back, walk back, ride back and swim back, back to myself, to the inside of the tree, to the bottom of the cave, to the heart of the flower, to the center of the universe, to the nucleus of the cell and breathe, breathe, breathe the sustenance, the life force, the nurturance, the body and the blood, the holy ghost, before the day begins, before I fully awake, I run back for one more dip in the pool, one more breath of life.

This once foggy summer morning

might be a perfect day.

The Void

Already fill the void? I've barely let out my breath, I've barely let myself go. I've barely said goodbye to all that I have known, to all who I have known. How many times must I do this, breathe in, breathe out, breathing in all that is, breathing out all that is no longer needed. and again.

Fire

"Fire" screamed the new fangled smoke detector in the middle of the night. "Fire".  Out of bed in a flash, I circled the entire house and then around it, in a run, "Is there a fire?" No, not tonight, not at this house. I got back into bed, the pillow was reassuring, luxurious even. Ah, my world is in a good place this moment. This moment. Then my eyes blinked wide open, fear, as I remembered how swiftly comfortable can change. We aren't always safe and it isn't always comfortable but that moment when there wasn't a fire and the pillow was soft and just right, maybe now sweeter for it's known tenuousness. Gratitude and all those lofty concepts people have said before me, true.