felicity

On a telephone pole sat a dripping seagull. It had been a quiet, peaceful day, but the night in her little suburban town turned stormy. When a gust of wind uprooted her from her perch, she went soaring, straight down into the water below. While falling, she adjusted her feathers and wings to take flight, but with a broken wing, things like this are quite difficult. Upon contact with the water, frustrated yet unwilling to consign herself to a fate of drowning in 3 feet of water in a blow-up kiddy pool, in a strangers backyard. . . she thrust herself up with every bit of strength that she could muster, and floated -as awkwardly as any soaking bird with a broken wing would- to the top of the lowest pole and assumed her position; waiting and watching. 

At least her eyes were still good.

trial one

so much for deadlines... i'm 23 minutes late... but somehow, that seems slightly appropriate.

in looking through old journals, hoping that i might find some gem to throw up here, and not taking as much time as would seem necessary, i found beautiful stories and great memories that i'd written down, and kept through pictures, etc...

though i'm not posting any of them now, i think tomorrow i'll start a series of notes from old books, perhaps looking back will inspire something new.

remembering has always been a useful tool for me. perhaps looking backwards will help me move forwards.

until next time,

peace & love,
the mist

22 january 2009

writing deadline #1:

23:23
23 january 2009.

because 23 was my favorite number when i was 6.

because 2 times 3 was 6.

and 6 was my golden birthday, and that was supposed to mean something.

and because it is 24 hours from when i started writing this post.

the one

so, i think i'm ready.
it's time.
i have been coming into myself lately and i feel really good about this.
i have even been shopping at, you know, less usual places than the mall and church.
though i wish i could find 'the one' at bake sales or consignment stores, i'm not quite sure that those would be the best places.
rummage sales maybe?... coffee shops can be good, but they are usually only good for the eclectic, "i won't last as long as you'd like you would like me to," type.
i am looking for strong, and soft, the right amount of delicate - yet sturdy, and long lasting. this is one of those "love at first sight" and way beyond "just like" situations...
when i find the right one, the one...
the whole world, i think, will stop and say, "yeah, that bag looks real good."

the winds words

[from 17 december 2008]

The wind, blowing through the
alleys, streets, buildings, windows, screens, cracks above, under and on the sides of doors
speaks to us.
Her language is foreign even to the birds she carries. She speaks of distant things - far off evils and the good that wards them off.
She speaks of a Creator, of Love; telling stories through the leaves, grasses and mountain passes.
She careens and bends to pour out the stories of old. She holds the past and rushes forward the future in present movements.
In her absence we find both comfort and fear.
In her gusts we experience surprise. She tears down. She builds up.
Her medium is sand, leaves, earth, water, and foam.
She thrusts snow from mountaintops and rivers are made.
In her movement, years are destroyed.
Memories overthrown.
In her is power.
In her is gentleness; the fresh breath of life give to each creature.
She caresses the faces of children in the sun and lifts their bodies and spirits on rainy days.
She dances in the fields and inspires flowers on their way.
She moves light.
In her many desires are birthed.
In her, fear and joy meet, elated.
She carries tears and drops them where life may be found.

Listen to her words; patiently.


[also, happy new year! if you read this, thanks - i hope you enjoy; if you don't and just stumbled upon it, cool... peace to y'all]