morning's arms

hours steal from the day

winds howl round a silent form

closed eyes release me

yesterday's qualms now gone

I waken in morning's arms

The Circle of Life

The circle of life

on scented petals of love

a daughter's gift

missing

I rolled over and my arm fell on the cold spot in the bed.

How long would it be before that wasn't a shock to the system anymore? No one else warmed the sheets. No one else would be making the coffee. No lover stood in the shower, or had walked out the front door on their way to work for the day. No one else filled the gas tank or my many waking hours. I was alone.

After so many weeks, how was it that fresh tears could still form under swollen lids? Was I doomed to this nightmare forever more? Would I ever wake up from this sick and twisted turn of my life? The answer of course was no.

Life no longer held another to be responsible to or to care about my fate. I could bypass the potatoes when buying groceries and never step into a hardware store ever again. But I was drawn to them none the less. The ten pound bags of yukon gold made my cry. I wandered the aisles of big box stores, feeling lost, but somehow drawn to the next lane to see if there was some other item that I really did need. When I did find something to purchase, I stared at my choices for what seemed an eternity, not wanting to fail and never confident enough about my own decisions. I needed to prove myself, but felt like I always set myself up to fail. The wrong size, shape or consistency doomed me every time. I returned the next week to try again though. And again.

This missing appendage was bigger than the spot on the bed and it amazed me how it grew with time. I now questioned food choices, TV shows, wall colours and more. I couldn't decide on a new bath tub, as what would happen if I picked wrong? How could I live with myself if I chose one roofer over another and the sky fell in?

Somehow the challenges kept coming though. Somehow I managed to choose. And one day I recognized that you weren't really missing anymore. You had been there all along, catching every tear that I shed. You applauded my choices and did your best to offer advice in the only way you could, through memories and slight of hand persuasions that I picked up on, but never quite realized. You sent me praise through a friend's touch or faith from your daughter's eyes. And occasionally, I found a piece of you that you left in my path  and I knew that you would be with me til the end.

That spot in the bed is no longer cold and I feel your smile on my shoulders strong. It is amazing that I was lost for so long, but slowly I awake and find I am missing no more.

♥♥♥

Again, not quite fiction, but drawn from a prompt at Mostly Fiction Mondays brought to us from Stranger and Me

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.