Feb. 17, 2005, Kisses
in the Wind:
in my cabin is barely enough to see words leave my pen. I don't know
if I would have the fortitude to keep the pen moving across the page,
if cold were added on top of dark. But, I am not tested that way tonight.
here are meager, but my requirements are few. I have seating for four,
at least four who are friendly and fine-boned; a comfortable bed, big
enough for one person and two dogs; a kitchenette; and a closet-sized
is dining service for four, too, bright yellow plastic cups and plates
from a retired picnic basket. The copper pot at the door awaits spring
planting and a delicately framed mirror holds the magnificent conch
shell reminding me of the kindness of strangers.
curtains keep out the worst of the cold and the remnant biker motif
of half-naked women conveniently wards off those with delicate taste.
It's a place of my own where I can entertain my own thoughts and please
myself with a cup of hot cocoa in solitude.
grown up in a family of five children, I rarely knew the small pleasure
of time to myself, perhaps not since I was five, digging in the cool
dirt, under my grandfather's avocado trees. Then, I used a kitchen spoon
to dig whole cities for imaginary mice, while I contemplated the absence
of my father.
recently said to my former lover, "It's hard to get over you,"
and he replied, "I'll help you," I knew I couldn't take another
ounce of that kind of help. There are some things you must do for yourself.
sandy soil to tilI, I have the advantage of age, knowing that time heals,
work mends and kisses in the wind magically land where they are intended.