The day is weary,
done--
but the light,
has so much left to give.
It flickers through the forming shadows,
spills out of the clouds like warm honey
melting from the sky.
I want to catch every last drop,
sticky on my skin.
Night air moving in, hairs stand on end--
the breeze
or
a pull from the magic in the evening’s exhale?
Pink fades to purple
sewn together with golden thread.
The light quietly slips from the sky
until tomorrow.
To rise again,
so will I.
Let me be like the light. Rising early at the start of the day, steady against the wind strong, sure. I will dance on water, weave myself in and out of wildflowers dress and bathe and kiss the earth b
There is much to be said about how you look when you wake at 4 am. You pull clothes on in the dark; mismatched socks. You choke down breakfast--dry and crumbly, as you drive through what is left of ni
There are exactly one million and one things that I do not know. Actually, there may be more (but do not tell my kids). But I do know this: We-- me and you and him and her and they and them-- we all b
