Marking a New Year (with Sea Glass)

A New Year is upon us. Time for new hopes, new dreams, and new calendars to mark your resolutions on. I was lucky enough to receive the Pure Sea Glass 2020 Calendar from Schiffer Publishing and have gladly hung it up for inspiration where I can see it first thing in the morning (at eye level to where the coffee maker lives—perfect spot).

Pure Sea Glass 2020 Calendar

What does 2020 look like from the near side of the year? If the pretty cobalt and cornflower blue sea glass images serve as inspiration for January, then do I look forward to a year of infinite possibilities of blue?

Far more cobalt-blue bottles were produced than cornflower-blue vessels, making the latter twice as hard to find. ~ Richard LaMotte

The sea molds whatever is thrown into it, just as life is molded by whatever waves crash into us. Perhaps we need to look harder to see the beauty created by those experiences, just as so many of us are drawn to the colourful shards of smoothed glass that wash up on beaches all over the world. Look beyond the colours to see how the experiences smooth sharp edges. We might start the same or similar colours, but it is the experiences that leave their marks on us and make us all unique and beautiful.

Color usually is the most significant emotional factor to excite the sea glass enthusiast.  ~ Richard LaMotte  

While blues rule the winter months, with their icy shades, things start to warm up with the arrival of March. I can't help but thinking of maple syrup when I see these pretty pieces of sea glass. Perhaps as winter wanes, we should sweeten the pot and embrace the warmth that promises to be on the way.

A very limited amount of red glass has been mass-produced in the last 50 years, so one can make assumptions about its age.    ~ Richard LaMotte

By May, a trip to the beach might not seem like such a bad idea again. Time to search for some sea glass of your own! I have found plenty of pieces at local nearby beaches at Port Stanley, Grand Bend, Bayfield, Goderich, and Sauble Beach. Being surrounded by the Great Lakes might make for wilder weather sometimes, but doesn't that make for more unique sea glass to be found? My eyes constantly search out for little pieces of colourful glass found along the shores of wherever I go.

The beach lures us to witness its infinite energy, constant motion, and change. We listen to its music for advice and solace. Each day is different. ~ Robert LaMotte

By July, we have hit the mid-point of the year, the weather is hot, and my birthday arrives! I love the summer months, for the long hot days and warm nights that invite as much time spent outside as possible. There are festivals to attend, campfires to spark, and lakes to cool off in just because. It has always been a time for renewal for me and reconnecting with my family. We shed the busy months, and slow down to be part of the natural world once more. Lots more time to unearth more unique sea glass at any number of beaches across southwestern Ontario and often further afield.

Tales of healing through collecting sea glass are just part of the story. ~ Richard LaMotte

After renewal comes the time to embrace our busy lives once more. The calendar gets marked with activities galore, but we still try to get outside to enjoy as much colour as we can. Leaves lose their greens in favour of yellows, reds, and oranges, in preparation for hibernation. Not without a vibrant goodbye though!

Reds, yellows, and oranges conjure up sunlight and fire, while the blues and blue greens evoke snow and ice, sea, sky, and moonlight.   ~ Anonymous

As the year winds to a close, it always seems miraculous how the time has flown. In between the holiday rush, I take time to reflect on where I've come throughout the year; the heartache, loss, success, failures, love, and joys along the way. It really is amazing how fast time flies and how all those moments add up to change who you were from the beginning of the year.

It is not merely the time in the water that creates great sea glass. Much of it remains embedded in the sand and shifts from its resting place several times. ~ Richard LaMotte

What I think I like most about this calendar though is the fact that sea glass is often hard to find, but brings so much joy to you when you do find it. The search forces you to slow down, be more mindful and observant of life around you, and offers the reminder to spend more time by the water! It changes you, but helps to smooth your edges and bring out your shine and beauty. How can you not smile at that? 

The Pure Sea Glass calendar is a delightful compilation of images of sea glass photographed by Tommy Allen, featuring quotes by Richard LaMotte. I received the calendar from Schiffer Publishing in exchange for a review, but had to make it my own. A little nod to the calendar, images, and quotes, with a bit more reflection on my part to keep it real and me. But I love beach glass and the calendar speaks to me. It truly does put a smile on my face when I look at it every morning and hopefully will remind me to be more present in my daily life, looking for the colours and seeing the beauty in how life molds us. 

illusion

I scribe illusion

from the truths inside of me

who would believe them

...

* inspired from a prompt from Colleen's Weekly Tanka Tuesday

I used synonyms for #write and #myth

Soar

Death and dying. I sense a theme. Is it the age I am at? Really? Early forties?! A mite young for contemporaries, but we are exposed to death at any age.

At age of 5, my father died. A few years later, his mother died from grief—god speed Gaga.

The years passed and family friends faded away; some old, many young. Cancer, you fiend, you were often the cause.

Lest you be a stranger, cancer came knocking again. After a seeming lull, you knocked on my door to announce your presence in my husband's life; his leg. You took your pound of flesh, then within a scant few years came calling for the rest.

Thirties—that's what Brad was. Too young, but you don't play with numbers. I have seen children touched by your mark. You are ruthless in your indeterminate arc.

I thought I had made peace with you. After fearing the C-word for most of my life, I saw the other side. Some fought the good fight and won. They looked you in the eyes and met you—survived. They were given a reprieve; the gift of rebirth. Oh, I know it means you lurk forever in the wings taunting with what-ifs, but when given the second chance to cherish every day once more, it is worth the gamble.

But today, you snuck in from the wings. Bert hadn't even seen 60. She lived a good life; rarely drank, drove the speed limit, took care of her mother... No matter. It was enough for you. It seems unjust! She lived for her cats, to do a good job at work, and to make sure her mother was well cared for. Now what? She complained, but not early enough. Surgeons opened her up to find you everywhere. Your chaos was more than anyone could battle. Within a month poor Bertie was gone.

And I found out too late.

No funeral, no mass, no fanfare. It was her way, but leaves me hollow. How does one say goodbye when the guilt of days passed stands in the way of goodbye? I should have called. I could have visited. No more.

I'm sorry Betha. I wish you had been given a fairer shake in this thing called life. More moments, Bigger joy, in depth love to make a heart swoon. It was not to be.

Perhaps this is my reminder to reach for those moments myself. Just this week I noted my lack of joy, the infrequent pangs of love, and the crazy busy life I lead, which, while hectic, doesn't fulfil my heart's desire. Is someone trying to tell me something? Live life before the unknown number of allotted days are gone...

Oh Bert. I am so sorry for your quick departure. I hope you find your way to the next life and discover more joy in it. Blessings to you my friend.


RIP BK. Soar...

Steps

A New Year
a new day...
More of the same, like days gone by?
~ hoping for more I pray.

Prayers are good and fine,
but actions beget more.
It's time to take life in mine own hands
and create a path to explore.

Idle steps lead nowhere fast;
if I want to find life and pep
the route to this door, this trail
starts today in my chosen step

So walk along, I wander;
my route mine to choose.
This year, a year of purpose
peace and happiness—the goal, to not abuse

What path have you set yourself on in 2016?

Happy Memories

Homework assignment:

Try to recall the day last year when you were happiest. Why then? What were the circumstances? Did it happen because of something you did, or did it just happen? When I asked someone this question the other day they said, "I can't remember the day but I can remember the hour very well. Is that good or pathetic?"

   ~ Jonathan Carroll

Last year...

Is he referring to this past year, 2014, or rather the year before? I suppose I can take licence in answering that, so define it as 2013, as I think of 2014 as this year. Or is it the year past? Hmm... I fear I am dithering though and shall just get on with the task at hand.

I slipped into a new decade

So what did 2013 hold? This is an interesting challenge for my memory. The biggest, most obvious thing must have been my birthday in July. I turned 40, but the date held far less fireworks than I imagined. The number came at me like a bulldozer trying to run me down, but after a few weeks, didn't have the punch I had expected. There were celebrations with friends and family, cake, and a trip to Sunfest with my girls for a taste of international music and arts. But it didn't make my heart stop. And I don't know if it contained my happiest moments to be truthful.

What else happened in 2013? At the time, I was pretty happy to meet my boyfriend's children in August. We had dated for what seemed like plenty long enough, but there were always reasons why we couldn't be introduced. When the date finally came, it was sprung on me at the last minute. I still had time to get nervous as all get-out though. To my delight, they happily liked me. And when I finally got over the fear of being the dreaded "other woman" I had hope that we could be one big happy family. We spent many happy moments together later that summer and fall, catching fish, carving pumpkins, and creating snowforts. The kids all got along better than I could have dreamed. The future looked bright. But as circumstances have since changed, I no longer have much to crow about over those particular memories. They sadly get lost amongst questions and lies.

Well then, where else did joy lie that year? There were plenty of smiles and laughter anytime I got together with my sister and her kids. And if I think about it, I know that my happiest moment was not a when, but with a whom.

2013 Clovermead Bee Beard Competition

Together with my sister, we went to Clovermead to see their annual bee beard competition. We hit the Ontario Science Centre in the spring, and gathered maple syrup, easter eggs and Autumn leaves; all together as a family unit. In those moments I felt most myself and at ease. I didn't have to be anyone else to impress. I wasn't required to be on my best behaviour. I could smile and laugh without fear of reprisals or ill effects. A pure love existed which didn't judge me, nor my actions. It wasn't big and spectacular, but all those moments were filled with the best of me and the best of what I hope to share with the world.

So I cannot say what my happiest moment of 2013 was. In fact, in 2014 I would probably have the same response. The "when" lay in the people whom I had the privilege to be with. My control of it had more to do with the fact that I chose to be with them. My family. My sister. Our love. Unconditional and joyful. And in recognizing that, I give thanks that I am blessed not with one sole happiest moment, but rather a happiest feeling when I am privileged to spend time with those I love most.

What is your happiest moment of the past year?

Rant

Rant.

Go...

My neighbour died last week. Another neighbour came over to break the news to me. She knew that I would want to hear, as I had always had a soft spot for him. It had been quick. He had gone to hospital Wednesday in distress and died before the day was out. The only thing left to do was schedule the funeral. 

Larry was a sweet old man. He was 90, still lived in his own home, drove his own car, and took care of himself. Another neighbour cut his grass and took care of his pool. Many neighbours brought him over meals, pies, and treats of one sort or another. We always gave him some of whatever we baked. He loved his sweets and appreciated everything that people did for him. From what I could tell everyone liked him. I was sad to hear of his passing.

Today was the funeral. As Larry had been kind to me in days when my grief was most poignant, I felt I needed to go and pay my respects. I had never noticed his family visit much, but the gesture of saying goodbye is an important one to me, so I wanted to go. A visitation was held, followed immediately by the funeral. He was to be interned afterwards. I knew that the internment would be out of the question, as I had to pick the girls up from school, but I planned to attend the other events. 

I drove to the church and said my hellos to the granddaughter that greeted me at the door. Larry was laid out in the next room with a few pictures nestled into the coffin with him. Death is never pretty, as the lifeblood that makes one real flesh and blood leaves the deceased withered and waxy. But I left a tear in his presence nonetheless. I took a seat in a pew off to one side and waited for the funeral to begin. A woman noticed me wipe my eyes though and approached to say hello. She was Larry's niece and looked like she needed a friend to talk to. We shared stories and I was convinced to sit in her aisle with her. Once the pianist played a few songs, the doors of the chapel were closed and the service began.

That is when I should have left.

I have been to many funerals. As much as they are sad affairs, they are held so that people can pay their respects to the deceased. They are an opportunity to start the closure of loss. This funeral was far from respectful though. And it certainly did nothing to honour the memory of the neighbour that I saw as a kindly elderly gentleman who was social, active and friendly with all he met. 

The preacher took to the pulpit and began by reading a letter from the daughter-in-law, who was seated in the front pew. It was awful. Not only did it highlight the ugliness of Larry's final hours, but it cast Larry in a light I never would have imagined. We were told of his mother's young death, then the destitution that followed. His father put him in an orphanage, only to bring him home to a house of alcoholism and poverty. So the story went, it made Larry bitter. And it went on to say that he remained that way for the rest of his life. 

As my fingers dug holes into my palms, I listened to Larry disparaged due to his lack of faith. His son and wife supposedly prayed for him to take Jesus into his heart, to no avail. It was his downfall and left him desperate to fill that whole with material possessions. 

Now it wasn't a secret that Larry had a problem. He was a hoarder. Two years ago he had damage in his home because of flooding. Due to the sheer mountain of stuff in his home the cleanup took the better part of six months. He spent that time living in his trailer out of town. I never heard tell that his son ever offered to put him up during that time. Oh, but they prayed that he would release the devil in his soul! 

Last I heard, hoarding was a mental illness though. Not a reason to castigate someone. Especially not at their funeral. 

There was no mention of what Larry did for a living. No recount of how many years he was married to his wife. Nothing said about his love of dancing. I wanted to pipe up that he was blessed with another romance late in life that was sadly cut short by his fiance's death on the day Larry asked her to marry him. And gee, he was 90 years old, living on his own, still able to walk and drive (not well, but its hard to let go of that independence) and visit with his neighbours when the mood struck him. 

No, we were told that despite Larry having made his family's life miserable for so many years by refusing to take up their faith, they finally won. As Larry lay dying, wracked by painful seizures that apparently terrified him, he finally saw the light. After yet another seizure, he "saw the light" that was Jesus. And then his fear left him. And he died. 

The cynic in me thinks that the tidy summation of Larry's awful existence was probably not exactly accurate. I offer no disrespect to those who have experienced this first-hand, but after listening to all the awful things said, I couldn't stomach the moral of the story - that we all must accept Jesus into our heart or be left to live eternity in hell. No heaven for any disbelievers or sinners. What about Jews, Muslims, Hindus, and others? No Jesus - no heaven.
.
I wanted to leave. It galled me to sit and listen to them bash this dear man that had helped rake my lawn at the age of 83 years old because he saw me crying in fresh grief with rake in hand over a leaf pile. Local bank tellers had spoken of him in glowing terms for goodness sake. And all they could see was a bitter old man that I am sure they are glad to be rid of.

Well, I made it through the service, despite my seething brain. And tonight I toasted Larry with fellow neighbours that had attended the funeral and were equally shocked by the things said and manner that Larry's death had been handled. We all deserve better than that. As my neighbour said, "they could have just stated facts if they didn't have anything nice to say." But I guess their god lets them feel justified in their ugly actions. I for one want nothing to do with their religion, if it is that judgemental and cold.

... end rant

Life After Life

 Life After Life, by Kate Atkinson, © 2013, Bond Street Books

What if you had life to live all over again? And you were able to learn from the mistakes you made in the first go round? Would you do it all again? Would you try to make a difference for
yourself and the world around you?

Ursula Todd was born on February 11th, 1910. In the middle of a snowstorm, no one comes to the aid of her mother and she dies with the cord wrapped around her neck.

On February 11th, 1910, Ursula Todd is born in the middle of a snowstorm. After a quick scare, she cries to life.

As Kate Atkinson weaves the tale of Ursula's life, we travel through England during a dark time. The world is on the brink of war. Ursula lives only to die at the hands of fate. Repeatedly. After every death, she is born again to do it all over anew, but with subtle twists to extend the story.

Ursula is not untouched by this cyclical life. By the time she reaches puberty, déjà vu plagues her at every turn. Death seems to stalk her, but she learns to outsmart his hand repeatedly. Sometimes whether she wants to or not. Her family notes her odd ways, but it is only Ursula and the reader who see the purpose of it all. And as time marches on that purpose becomes a spectre that many historians would like to see smoted as well.

While I read Ursula's tale, I could not help but think on parts of my own life that could have been changed. Have I lived more than once? Have I danced with death, but picked a safer path this time? If I changed something, would my world look completely different or just slightly askew?

I cannot help but think that there are many lessons to be learned on the path we walk at present. As tempting as it is to go back in time and set things to rights, is that really the right answer? It is an interesting question and one that got Kate Atkinson a Costa Book Award for Novel (2013), plus several literary nominations for awards. I guess that means that a few other people have asked that same question themselves then, doesn't it?

This one is well worth the read in my books!

To See Further

as the wind blows
as my story goes
people come
and others flow

through my pictures
in my dreams
just fleeting memories
so it seems

one yesterday
and another now
my losses strained
against furrowed brow

they keep adding up
to make me fall
they keep challenging life
leaving behind a dark pall

standing there
you were so strong
you'd gone before me
knew the sad song

grief enough 
to fill my head
you brushed me off
and smiled instead

with old gnarled hand
you reached to me
took up my burden
laid it aside gently

not near so bad
as it did feel
this too shall pass
with more feelings real

for many years 
you strode the path
looked death in the eye
feared not its wrath

but today you lost
your life so sweet
no goodbyes said
from across the street

how do we know 
when our time has come
can you make peace
before the reaper's last drum

Dear Larry is gone
but not forgot
his gift to me
to see further than one aught

The Art of Racing in the Rain

The Art of Racing in the Rain, by Garth Stein, © 2008, Harper Collins

I am sure plenty of you have already picked this book up. I had seen it promoted on Goodreads, Indigo/Chapters and elsewhere. While that does help to catch my eye, it doesn't always equate to me reading a book. And as I am not much into racing and I don't have a dog, I might not have picked up this book at all. But my book club strikes again and it is on our list for this fall, so off to the library I went.

And I am glad.

We are introduced to Enzo in the opening pages. He is an old dog that is failing. His hips no longer work and his bladder isn't what it used to be, but he is still dedicated to his owner, Denny. As the story unfolds, we get to recollect Enzo's life from the time he is picked out of the puppy patch at the farm. And in a unique twist, the tale is told exclusively from Enzo's perspective.

Enzo is a dog that is closing in on his perfection of doghood. He is convinced that in his next life he will come back as a human. As such, he strives to do his best to be kind and considerate to Denny and as it comes in turns, his wife Eve and their daughter Zoe. Just because Enzo feels he is close to being human doesn't mean he doesn't enjoy a good game of tug of war with Eve or a walk in the park with Denny when he is home from the race track though. But when Eve is struck by a deadly diagnosis of brain cancer, the whole family has to adjust, Enzo included.

Even if you are not a dog lover, you cannot help but be charmed by plucky Enzo. He understands the nuances of life and refuses to let go of his faith that good will prevail. Through the family's trials, he tries to find understanding and offer support to his humans, in a way that can't help but make us wonder at our own failings. If you can keep dry-eyed in this quick 321-page read, you are a stronger person than I. But I am sure you will enjoy it nonetheless even if you do.

About Time

Happy New Year!

Words spoken by those in...  September?!

What?

But it makes sense. And it has been similar to the meaning behind the lyrics of Auld Lang Syne . I have been experiencing 'old home' month, if you will. Faces I haven't seen in years have filed by with smiles and hugs like nary a day has past. I've seen former work associates, co-workers, spoken to high school chums, and visited friends who moved away years before. Their link is in their happiness to see me.

Now, is it that I am so great a person? Well, not necessarily or else I would probably still see or talk to them all on a regular basis. Not that I am knocking me. Life gets busy. Sometimes Big 'L' Life gets in the way of living. We get so busy running that we forget to stop and smell the roses and enjoy the people along the way that have sniffed those roses with you.

It fills my heart to see their smiles. It does my soul good to hear them say they have been thinking about me. Where have I been? What have I been doing? How have I been keeping?

I ask myself, why haven't I been around then?

Well, J lives in BC and L moved to NY 14 years ago. JA is a 2 1/2 hr drive away, as is C in a slightly different direction. A, B and D work 10 minutes from my house, but the phone has been silent between us. And my excuse for S is what? I am too busy for a coffee break? What's wrong with me? Why can't I drive 45 minutes to see D and J or 1 hour to visit with J and L? I would love to see all of them. I know there is tonnes to catch up on and we could all use the tonic of the visit.

It is that dreaded Time. Or lack thereof. But it seems that time is pointing out there is plenty of reason to stay in touch. Relationships are worth it. And regardless of the quiet days that I spend typing on my computer, I do have a few relationships in my life. My friends are there regardless of time's passage.

And right now, I should make the effort to reach back out and step into people's lives. It is worth it. Time has bestowed the gift of remembrance on me. Perhaps it is time that I cash in on that offering.

Anyone care to sniff the roses with me this week?

Steadfast Hands

Climb every mountain;
hide under every bed...
Strike a pose intimidating
and shriek against the mess in my head.

One moment I'm as tall,
as the highest sequoia.
The next I shrink so small,
too wee to dream of any redeeming karma.

It is this way in life
It is that way in love
see-saw, flip-flop
no even keel laid down from above

The sun shines strong
on my future,
but I fear hesitates to 
germinate this heart's pure ardour

Icy winds
don't blow away tomorrow
Steadfast hands
hold secure as I follow
A dream
that needs no more sorrow...

♥♥♥PEACE♥♥♥

Image Courtesy of lusi; RGBstock.com

broken path

Driving nowhere fast

I careen around the corner

hit life square in the face

and blink, squint, see no more...

Where was that path I was following,

just yesterday?

now lost in a drift

with wheels spinning aimless again.

can you see the future?

cus I am sure having a hard time

and as the light focuses

an army of familiar faces

all stand blinking at the same roadblock

all lost in a today we never anticipated... 

hello 2013

what do you hold?

Sunday

Those vibrations are back
they come from Sunday's chores
Sunday's hours
moments filled with
mundane,
purpose and
everything that a Sunday should be

Hurray for a Sunday
that gave me a piece of me
a piece of work done
and the allowance of love
to flow into the
universe

Today, I like Sundays

Time

Time, where have you gone?

fleeting shadows of yesterday

are all I can see now

bring back my sanity

return my semblance of life

or let me catch

this rising star

and ride it

through the night

tonight

~

the pitcher

torn inside out

i look 

and still find me there

holding 

the pitcher of

life

The Circle of Life

The circle of life

on scented petals of love

a daughter's gift

the stories of life...

Downloading the stories of my life;

I see flashes of children, 

scents of flowers

and essences of home.

But,

Where am I to be seen?

Is it time to take a moment for me?

Go With The Flow

Adrift, I throw a stick into the trickling stream and watch it tumble away from me, like so many moments upon my path. It gets sucked down into the boiling rapids, pops back up farther downstream, and then drifts aimless on towards the future what-ifs. There are rocks along the path, that represent bumps and bruises to be had, but somehow the little vessel keeps going with the stream. A tip of the stick might get broken or bark peeled away on its watery journey, but as long as water flows, so too does the twig. How to contemplate such a thing, when I remain sitting on the side of the stream?

Even in our darkest days, when we get stuck in a swirling eddy, swept away by a downpour, or even worse, the stream threatens to dry up and leave us stranded, there is still hope. Something will come along to knock us out of our stasis and propel us forward again. Drought does not last forever, even when any amount of rain dances seem to fail. A deluge that may drown everything but the moment will eventually slacken, if we can but hold onto our faith. We need to trust in time, forward movement and the promise of life.

I have seen the seasons change my soul, but find myself still bobbing along in the river of life. At times, the river has seemed too wide to reach any shore, too torrential to ever dream of surviving the ride or too barren to ever have hopes of seeing another creature in sight. Should I be surprised that the bends in the stream have brought new scenery? Am I truly drifting or is this the path that I was placed upon by an unknown hand long ago.

However I got here, I think that the stream knows the journey well, whether I foresee the ripples along the surface or not. And as I arise from my perch on the streambed, I see my children laughing and running in circles just steps from me. They will have their own share of ripples through life, but perhaps my tears will make their flow easier somehow. Maybe my branch will block the path towards dangerous eddies or cut off dry streamlets that fade into nothingness. I just have to trust and go with the flow and realize that we aren't so adrift as we sometimes feel.

~^~^~^~

This might not be quite fiction, but it came from ideas presented over at Me & Stranger's blogs, as they "drift" along in the blogosphere. 

Spring is On The Rise

The smell of flowers fills the air 
A heady scent which none can compare. 
In colours red, yellow and pink,
a rainbow that I deign to drink.


Soft and bright upon my eyes
touching soul, I do surmise 
Smoothing ruffles left from dull
winter doldrums swept clean and full. 


Ah, sweet Spring is on the rise 
along with life's new enterprises
I dream a dream of new love found 
and awaken feeling its embrace profound. 


Smiles and sunshine fill me up 
enough to sate an old wound's crux 
And grief is left in winter's wake 
to remind us of the season's slake.


I shall not dwell in that cold house 
feeding a sorrow I do espouse 
For I now stand upon my feet 
facing a life that I do entreat 


with the smell of fresh flowers
in an air that empowers 
a new colourful life begins 
and is surrounded by nature's grins.


Now I hold pure blessings to Spring 
in all of its worth and all that it brings 
Naked I come and offer my soul 
and prostrate give thanks for a long journey's toll

~Peace~

Resolutions

~
It's
Saturday
New Year's Eve
Time for reflection
for resolutions
for peace
for me
Me
~

~

words 

written down

grown strong and 

confidant in themselves

still linger on  fingers

afraid to reach 

out for 

you

~

~

time

its time

to step beyond

embrace the unknown

fling myself open

without caution 

nor prejudice

into life

~