finding our way...

All the signs point north, so we steadfastly trod south. Wondering why we can’t find our way in the desert, over the mountain and through the forests. The lights are all red but we prcoeed with out caution and wonder why we end up damaged. Don’t cross here, one way only, do not enter and we press on crossing where we shouldn’t, entering where we mustn’t always going the wrong way. It amazing that we find a place to rest at all, as we continue to wander completely in the wrong direction.
I wonder, sometimes, if that is why God made the world round. So perhaps then, eventually, going in the wrong direction we end up where we should have been, where we could have been, where we need to be.

another time, another place

White sands,
Whispering breeze,
Rolling surf,
Pale moon,
Shimmering water,
Hot night.

Starry sky
Blazing fire
Hot coffee,
Flowing stream
Windy night
Waving branches.

Candlelit room.
Ceiling fan,
Down comforter,
Deep pillows,
Brandy glasses,
Soft music.

A Romance

Encountered
Interested
Introduced
Intrigued
Enchanted
Enamored
Coveted
Cuddled
Caressed
Loved
Engaged
Wed
Honeymooned
Held

I'm hoping so

What is real?
Is it this place my body occupies?
That place I dream of?
My memories of what we have shared?
My nightmares of losing my way?
Is what we have real?
The whispers in the wind,
The wanderings in the fog,
The tears in the night?
Will it disappear with the dawn?
Fade in the light of day?
Overtaken by the pressures of life?
My daydreams of another time and place,
Are they just my imagination?
Or is there a place somewhere that is more real than here,
More real than now,
More real than all the realities of this time and space?
I’m hoping so.

The reunion

“Hurry! Hurry! We’re going to be late! I told you this was going to happen. Hurry!” He’s got his coat on, looking at his watch. “Are you ready?”
“I’m coming as fast as I can.” She walks into the room, one shoe in her hand. “Do you think I look okay in this sweater or should I wear the red one?”
He shakes his head, “This one is just fine. We really don’t have time, hurry.”
“Just fine? That’s it just fine, I should probably wear the red one then. I don’t want to look just fine. I want to look beautiful, sexy, fabulous.” She walks back into the bedroom.
He tries to calm himself. He follows her into the bedroom. “You look beautiful, sexy, fabulous no matter what you are wearing or not wearing.” He notes the pile of clothes on the bed and on the floor. “I don’t know why you are making such a fuss about this.”
She comes out of the closet in her panties and her bra, no longer wearing either the sweater nor the skirt that she had on previously. “How about this one?” She holds up a pale blue sweater.
“That one would be fabulous dear.” He picks up a pair of black slacks from the floor, deliberately calming himself. “I think you should wear it with these pants.” He glances at his watch casually but she catches the look.
“Why are you rushing me? Don’t you want me to look beautiful? Are you in such a hurry to get to see all those girls again?” There is an edge of panic in her voice.
“They are not girls, they are grown women. After 20 years they are probably fat and ugly, but no matter, even if they looked like they did when I was in high school, you would outshine them all” He kisses her, slowly, softly, then a little more passionately. “We don’t have to go, we could stay here.” She laughs then.
“No, I’ll be right out. I would hate for you to miss the reunion.” She pushes him away.
He walks out of the room. A few minutes later he calls to her from the front door. “Are you ready? Can you please hurry! We’re going to be late!”

Hiding in plain sight

“How are you?” he asks. Looking at her gently, knowing the answer even before she says it.
“I’m fine,” she replies. She looks right at him, trying to appear perfectly calm, her eyes dark, revealing nothing.
“You’re sure?” he asks.
“Of course I am,” she answers, laughing lightly as if to lend credence to the lie.
“Alright then, if you’re ok I’ll go. I’ll stay if you want me to,” but he’s already reaching for the door knob. Then he stops and looks back, uncertain whether to believe her.
She smiles and waves him away. As the door closes she begins to cry. She’s gotten so good at hiding in plain sight that he doesn’t see or hear. He doesn’t know. She looks out the window and watches him leave, already on his cell phone, already somewhere else, even before he’s completely gone.
She walks to the bedroom reaches into the closet for her suitcase. There is no point in staying. She’s become so well hidden that whether she stays or goes is inconsequential. She picks up her keys. Takes one more look around. Pulling out of the driveway and heading to the mountains she wonders if there is a place she can go to where she won’t need to hide anymore.

Sarah's prompt: White Rabbits

Easter comes and with it all the baby chicks, ducklings and white baby bunnies. But of course Easter goes and the baby chicks turn into ugly scraggly not quite yet chickens, the ducklings become loud, smelly and annoying and the cute little bunnies turn into white rabbits that get into Mother’s garden and eat the early lettuce.
I remember chasing them about, my brother and sister laughing until their sides ached and they could no longer stand, so they would fall to the ground giggling. . All the while Mother was yelling “Catch it, Robert! Catch it!” But I couldn’t because the white rabbits were too quick. We would all go indoors then for some sandwiches, without lettuce, of course. Delicious sandwiches with hot, fresh bread, and thinly sliced luncheon meat, hefty pieces of cheese and tall glasses of milk. I miss those days.
I miss who we were then, young and innocent. Mother, always laughing and smiling with us. The little house at the edge of Collier Valley always warm and welcoming. We didn’t know than that life could be hard. We didn’t know that the days would be long.
We just lived and loved and laughed while chasing white rabbits.

The smallest of choices

There is a sound off in the distance. A whistling, to be more precise, and he can’t tell if its coming from the wind or the teakettle. It stops abruptly and then a little more clearly the sound of the hot water being poured into a cup. Then he hears the sound of her bare feet on the tile floor in the kitchen. He hears her open the door to the refrigerator.
He wonders if this is what it will be like now for the rest of his life, listening to her moving about, living her life while he lies in this bed. God he hopes not. He has been like this forever, or has it really only been three days. Funny how the smallest of choices can affect the rest of your life.
“Darling, here’s your tea.” He sits up and she straightens the pillow trying to make him more comfortable. Then he feels her soft hands take his hand and put it around the warm mug. “The appointment is at 11:30.” She says calmly, too calmly.. He can hear the panic lying just below the surface, takes a sip of his tea so he doesn’t have to respond.. “Your dad is coming over to take us. They’ve arrested that man for driving under the influence.”
He says nothing. Too many thoughts and he knows that if he speaks all the emotions that he’s tried to keep pent up so she wouldn’t see them will come tumbling out. He feels the weight of her on the bed. The smell of her freshly washed hair, her gentle kiss on his cheek and she lays her head on his chest.
“Jimmy, its going to be alright, my love.” She whispers. “It will be. It just has to be.” Then she takes the cup from his hands and reaching across him places it on the bedside table. He barely moves and then she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him to her. Holding him against her, she begins to gently run her fingers through his hair. The tears begin to flow from both their eyes. “They’ll take the bandages off and you’ll be fine. You’ll be able to see just fine.”
He’d like to believe her, but fear grips him. He wants to reassure her. But all he can think about is that he should have crossed at 13th Street instead of cutting across at Grand. He’d only done it because he had smelled the fresh bagels as he had made his way up the street. The smallest of choices.