Rain. Days and nights of wet, thunder, fallen tree limbs. I don’t remember the rains being so long, so violent. Beautiful. Everything is green, lush, fed. Our floors are littered with tiny footprints of mud. Red rivers flow down our sloped front yard. It just keeps raining.
The butterfly exhibit at the Museum of Natural History did not fail to impress today. Again, the wonder children bring back into your life. I remember when I was younger I used to collapse under the sheer heaviness that we are on a planet spinning in space, fast. I would sit at a river’s edge and imagine dinosaurs walking through
How is it my heart still beats red? Whispering me back. Settled into ancient passion, yes. But, the place my skin crawled with life is haunting me.
I am in love. Italy is now mine. It took a dark, edgy city to pull me in, and sink me. Naples is deep. It’s dirty. It’s sexy. It’s everything you think of when you think of Pacino, Deniro, men in dark suits whispering in corners. Sure, there is the Corso lined with expensive boutiques and monuments of stunning beauty,
The summer is winding down, should have been home by now. We ran from two islands, but Irene caught us in NY and has us grounded. No space on any airlines, so we wait, stuck, packed, ready, in memories. We left this behind, spending our last day on the farm haying: My husband got to do this: while I ran
August nights in British Columbia: But I get to do this: