An Ode to my Cold

There was no faithline, no family promises passed on through prayer. Only a bloodline from Creation’s start, scarlet thread bound and wound together, a cord the color of life, made by a Weaver who dyed it red with blood. Woven with the loom of love, a lifeline coming my way~ a cord in the window~…

(for Tania) “We’re like lacemakers,  a lost art of lovely life going, going, gone. Gone the way of quilting bees and fireside readings of “Gone with the Wind.” Gone, like all hope of  any kind of spring after this bone-chilling winter.” But the earth softens, trumpeting daffodils, splitting crocuses and color comes up, all green…

Feeling the rain come cave-cool air, white and empty but for the breeze. Still water rushing the trees, sleepy birds sitting at rest call out the change while tone on tone chimes echo from far below. The drops fall – spare, invisible, too few. My dry, gray lawn is thirsty and longs for a drenching, healing…

I flatten myself carpetside, legs parallel as the lines of a crosswalk,arms a perpendicular “T”to my torso, aching as theystretch (or do they stretchand therefore ache?) Open-bodiedstance releases all weight of this weary week.White-flagging my way to the floora wide space spans my once-tightpalms, now held by an invisiblesilken thread index to index.Sprung free from…

Writing comes from listening, so I’ve taken quiet steps outside away from the loud  to hear better. Eyes open this time  to see AND hear–this– the delicate drops of fuchsia,  ballerinas fluttering like so many upside-down firecrackers, fragile, full of beauty dropping feathery tendrils to the silent air.

I stroll in  for a ‘few’ groceries at The Hundred Dollar Store, stopping first for what passes for sustenance  (never shop when you’re hungry). The bright-eyed toddler tossed in the air before me while parents wait for pizza, kissed by dad, hugged by mom, she slyly smiles, curling into strong shoulders.   I push away,…