Sometimes on Saturday, after our morning is bombarded with tree trimmers and construction workers and noisy pedestrians walking to the beach, we like to take our place on our especially high perch just to make sure that everything stays in order.
Can I See Your I.D. Please?
Sergeant Silky Ears
Winds from the east will bring a certain cozy anticipation, however lingering sorrow may increase the chance of light tears. Jumpy, anxious and glorious sunsets will create monsoonal moisture that leaves even the most steady heart trepidatious, thinking of the weird yet interesting family conversations to be had around various holiday tables.
Back To You In the Studio,
833. Snakes as pets
834. False eyelashes
835. Road rage
“Are those bangs or is that an awning?” the worried pup queries.
Feet steadied directly below me, I raise my head and look out far, far beyond my immediate landscape and I can see the infinite beyond. What seems small from where I am standing is, I realize, large beyond my imagination and in my heart I find this compelling. The what ifs and how abouts and if onlys tend to fade away when I put them into context of the great wide expanse and when I do this it comes to me: I don’t know much. I may worry and fuss and wrangle with what I imagine to be truth but when it comes down to it I am just an observer looking up and out and wishing for cohesion—wishing and wondering about what the heck is in store for me.
Over the Hills and Far Away,