Something draws you in and you reach out a hand.
Don’t know why, it just happens that way sometimes.
You make a statement and get a response. The smiling kind.
So goes the give and take of acquaintance but there is more.
Sometimes there is a special connection, something you see,
Something the other person sees, feels that builds a friendship.
Laughter is easy, fun. You are you and they are they.
You see some of what indicates so much more.

They see enough to want to learn more, share more, listen more, tell more.
Friendship is a smooth and gliding road; times of great speed and times of coasting pleasure.
We like the ride as we pedal along taking in the warm sunshine,
Delighting in unexpected moments of fun.
Sometimes there are bumps in the road and we even fall over a cliff but there is that hand; that friend’s hand.
The hand that belongs to the person who understands, who cares and tries hard to make us reach up and grab hold.
That friend is a special friend. One who doesn’t give up.  
Sometimes we don’t see our friend a lot or sometimes they are a new friend but a true friend nonetheless.
And sometimes they are a friend we have never actually met but we are close in spite of that.

I am guilty of sometimes not making sure my friends know I value them.
We all let the moments slip by. We have busy lives and we don’t always think.
We don’t always think of how much our friends give us and that to keep the bond strong we have to give back too and make sure they know how special they are to us.
My friends are like my family only better. I didn’t get to pick my family but I picked my friends or they picked me and I am so glad they did.
Whether meeting by accident or by design we have been thrown together and I am so glad we have been.

Way back when, my Grade 1 teacher wrote in my autograph book;
“Make new friends
but keep the old.
One is silver,
The other gold.”

She stands at the kitchen window, slowly stirring the rich brew. The shade from the Mountain Ash still cloaks half of the tomato plants in cool relief.  The ones in the full sun of day are bigger and are already bearing fruit. What is the message this full exposure/half shaded patch is sending out to her as she gazes and sips her tea?

Remain in the shadows and only live half a life? Exposure yourself to all before you and find your fruit for life spent too soon? Who is to know? Somewhere in there she thinks there must be a happy medium. Some balance between the overly protected and the completely exposed. That is the fine balance she strives to find for herself.

She decides to venture out into the garden and walk the path that lies before her. Around every turn there is a surprise, some beauty to behold. Also along the walk are the nasty pests of life which rot and eat up the beauty that is there to be found. Adjusting the rocks and plantings, she disturbs the nest of the invaders hoping to salvage and rebuild the cuttings; to nurture new growth. Time will tell if she is successful.

She meanders to a new area of the yard still under construction. Development is slow. It takes thought and motivation to make a start; always a bit unsure of how to begin and then how to proceed. Structure takes shape one bit at a time. She has faith that she will be pleased with the end result. There is comfort in knowing that if she does not she can always tear it down and start again. It is not an easy process to begin again but sometimes it is necessary.

All the while, she reminds herself it is the journey along the path and the building as she goes that gives her the most joy; to see her life unfold as she places brick on brick. The garden will be done when it is done. In the meantime, she is enjoying the ever changing design. She sits to take a breath and finish her tea. The sweet refreshment flavours her tongue. She reflects as a gentle smile crosses her lips and she prepares for her day.

To love half way is to do the greatest harm.
To entice another heart to open to you
And then to not open the door to your own all the way
Is the most effective way to hurt the other, even if you do not intend it.

Your intent does not matter.
If it is fear within yourself or mistrust or
Lack of the ability to understand or love back does not matter.
The effect is more harsh than if you had damaged with malice.

It doesn’t matter if you are a government without a fully developed plan or
A parent with no understanding of the lasting consequences of your actions or
A lover unable to open your heart to one who is wanting to love you.
The harm you cause tears at the heart of another, and yes, the wound scars.

All it takes to prevent the cut is to have courage;
Courage to do the right thing;
Courage to discover the right way to do it;
Courage to have the will.

Many people live without courage
And thereby, give only halfway.
A life lived halfway is a wasted opportunity.
To love only halfway is to waste more opportunities than just your own.

Your life is pared down at the end of it all, not as you would want it but as it has to be.

A near 80 years of collection tossed off as shackles even though you saw them as the ties that bind,

Binding your life together, year after year, memory after memory.

All lie in heaps of refuse waiting to be hauled away to a place where the forgotten reside for eternity.

Those left behind pick your bones and assemble your kingdom, all at the same time.

Assessing you with their own judgements.

Unable to defend or bask in the glory, you watch from beyond with the faint hope that you have not passed by this place unnoticed.

The rendering of a life comes to us all without our say.

The richness of what remains is determined as we make our choices along the journey.

One can only hope the choices were then well made.

My ankles are swollen now thanks to you buggers.
I didn’t even do anything but you satisfied your hungers.
We are sitting enjoying a glorious day
And in you buzz, determined to have your own way.
You hide your nests gradually making them bigger
And then their where abouts it’s our job to figure.
You can ruin a picnic or a leisurely walk
And drive a hiker to jump off a dock.
Under the water is a place you won’t go,
But we are air-breathers and this fact you know.
Cleaning up carrion and devouring our pests
But why come after me while I’m having my rests?
You’re nasty, Mr. Wasp; you and your stinger.
I hate you. I fear you. You’re a real hum-dinger!

Snatched from my life.
He is gone so quickly.
I am not ready. Are you ever ready to lose one so dear?

Now all is black, black and cold and silent.
There I cringe.
Shrunken, at the bottom of a deep, black, cold and silent well.
So deep not a spark of light can reach me.
There is not a glimmer of hope to shine in and give me life again.

There I sit, curled with my arms wrapped about my knees holding them as close as I can.
Squeezing them in tight, the only thing to now fill the void in my arms where he once cradled.
Head deeply bent. There is no reason to raise my eyes.
I know he will not be there.
There is nothing there.
A huge empty black foreverness is all that surrounds me.

Each breath, each moment, each day I am a little smaller.
The pain of a broken heart is unbearable, the blackness ***** the life from me.
I cannot live like this and finally, after a time there is a small spark.
I see the words form in my mind. "I cannot live like this." And I realize I do not want to die.

So I fight. I struggle. I try to move.
I push the cold walls of the well back slightly.
Just the tiniest bit lets a small glimmer of light shine in.
That is all it takes to let me see there is another way.
This desperation and despair is not for me. I cannot die this way. I am not ready to give up my life.
It is not my time. I cannot give up, not yet. My will to live is all that can save me now.

I stretch my hand up and find a crevice in the stone to make a start,
A start of a long journey back to life, one step at a time.
I climb, little by little, up to the light that shines above.
Above this hole in the ground, above this death, above this hell.

The black stone walls now show streaks of gray and white, very little white but some white.
The air warms, is lighter, smells sweeter. It is easier to breathe.
The dampness lessens as I inch my way to the surface.
The farther I crawl upward the bigger the circle of light becomes,
The brighter the sunlight,
The warmer I feel.
At some point, I cannot pinpoint when, I know I will live.
I will struggle but I will live.

Every day, I think of him.
I remember his sleek blonde hair.
The way he would swing his head to the music
And his flaxen locks would flow.
The way I would stroke his head
To comfort both him and I in troubled times.

Every day, I think of him.
I remember his dark blue eyes.
The way they twinkled when he was happy
And the way they cried for relief when he was ill.
The way he could look into your soul
And search for that special way to connect.

Every day, I think of him.
I remember his soft, pure skin.
The way it never changed as he grew older.
It was peaches and cream
And felt like silk to the touch.
It is one of the things I miss the most.

Every day, I think of him.
I remember how he would wrap himself around me in his sleep.
The way he was unable to accept closeness in the wake of day,
His will would give way to the love of a mother.
As I cradled him in my arms,
My heart would ache, knowing this was a fleeting moment.

Every day, I think of him.
I remember our life together.
The way we strengthened each other
To tackle whatever lie ahead.
The way we taught each other
The meaning of unconditional love and acceptance.

Every day, I think of him.
Every day, I miss him.
Every day, I love him.
Today, I honour him.

the flame burns close
too hot
held near the skin
too close
trying to see the soul within
too near
a glimpse captured
too dear
breaking a sweat
too real
giving a burn
too you.
test how close
too much
back off a bit
too right
wait for the fire to catch
too long
turn up the heat
too far
all is ablaze
too late
out of control and away
too me.

Brave souls set out from the world that they knew,
A dangerous trip with death for more than a few.
Enduring hardship as they travelled the sea
Seeking their fortune and a better life there to be.
Single adventurers, families , all ages and types,
Possessions all stowed, they come risking their lives.
Decisions to sail were as varied as men,
Moving onto the now and leaving the then.
Not knowing before them what would unfold,
Stories and legends of many were told.
Some coming with love and wanting to teach
Of God and religion seeing heathens to reach.
Others not so, more evil of heart,
Finding men and their money so easy to part.
Fleeing the gallows of home they did run
Making a life with violence and gun.
Heroes were few but ******* abound
As they eked out a living and laid claim to their ground.
Pioneers and the lawless, fortune seekers and cads
The harlots, the clergy, all lasses and lads.
They came and they stayed. My country did grow.
Canada was born. And with pride now I glow.

Beautiful nails all shiny and pink.
Delicate skin, soft and smooth.
These hands of gentle grace longing for the curve of a muscle.

The tender finger tip lightly tracing the edge of a masculine line,
as though the finger were the tip of her tongue.
A gentle tease of delight for both.

The feminine softness of a supple palm
pressed against the firmness of an urgent need
transmits desire from one to the other and back again.

The sense of touch;
A marvelous gift designed exquisitely
for sensual sharing.

Tuesday morning, shiny and bright.
I made it through one more night

So I thought I‘d send this message to you
And wish you a sunny day too.

I’m glad you think that I am funny
‘Cause I’m after your smile and not your money.

They had been lying there all night, each curled into the shape of the other.  Neither one had thought they would be at ease enough to actually drift off, but they had. He didn’t know how long they had slept; just that it had been the best sleep he had had in a long time. He resisted the approach of morning, afraid that any telltale movement would awaken her lying there in the crook of his arm with her head resting against his chest. Gently gazing down upon her sleeping face, he wasn’t quite sure if he was awake or still dreaming. He had played this moment over in his mind, both while awake and sleeping, so many times that at this very moment he just couldn’t believe it was real.

As she slowly pulled back from the misty images of dreamland her subconscious told her of the change in his breathing. She felt the smooth, firm cushion of his skin where her head was resting on his chest. His quickening heartbeat told her he was already awake but she wasn’t quite ready to break the magical spell of their night together.

She felt a slight squeeze as he ever so gently, pulled her in closer. She slowly woke and stretched her hand out across his chest and down his long torso. She noticed how warm he was to her touch as she felt the contours of his well formed muscles. He stretched slightly and she straightened her body to align along side his, feeling the firmness of his form contrasting to her soft feminine curves. As her long nails gently teased the inside of his thigh, his strong arms enveloped her. She couldn’t have escaped if she had wanted to. Her desire grew and she knew escape was not what she would ever want again.

Gently turning her face to his, he kissed her eyes, her cheeks, her neck. Circling around to that small indentation at the base of her throat, a light but longing moan escaped her slightly parted lips. With a moist kiss their bodies molded together; a perfect blend.

He told himself his morning run was going to have to wait.

I am never up at this hour on an ordinary day. Is this to be an extra-ordinary day? Pulling up I see 4 beers cans perched on the lower cement pillars by the water’s edge, remnants of an interrupted night before. The cans are still full.
It is almost perfectly calm but not quite. You seldom get a completely calm day in this windy prairie city. Slight ripples reflect the emerging light and make the lake dance and twinkle, a happy moment of day’s awakening. As the eastern sky lightens natural silhouettes take form. Birds floating in the distance, the far off shoreline, tree tops and buildings share the horizon. Water beetles break the surface with the larger ones exposing themselves with a flip, then down they go again. Lights on Albert Street Bridge and the Promenade make for a pretty picture on this late summer’s morn’. I click but will have to wait until later to see if they actually turn out good enough.
The birds begin to move around. Seagulls flying above catching slow to nest night bugs, other water birds start off on their daily trek around the lake, back and forth. A cyclist rides by and a man passes out for his morning walk. Both say good morning, happy to share this beautiful hour of the day with a kindred spirit.
It is a less than spectacular sunrise but that is okay. My camera batteries are dead now anyway. I will have to rise in the wee hours of another 24 to capture a good one and share it with you. Good thing tomorrow is another day.

You will never know the extent to which you have been woven into my life.

Whether it is by accident or some greater design, I do not know.

I am a middle-aged, woman whose life fell apart a few years ago.

When I began sewing it back together, the thread that is you was laced into the weave.

Now the fabric in my lap is not what I would have ever envisioned in a million years.

It is full of expression, new people and exciting discoveries at every turn.

My life would have changed anyway but I think I like it better with you in the pattern.

You have an amazing gift. Not just your musical talent but your ability to somehow touch inside another person without even appearing to try or to know that you do.

Are you aware of this gift? Be careful with it. It is magical.

Thank you for everything you have given to me, especially yourself.

What if I were to tell you,
You broke my heart today?
What if I were to tell you,
I cannot live this way?

Would you make a different choice?
Would I be the one?
Or would things still be the same
Never to be undone?

I love you too much to let you go
But it’s tearing me apart.
Not able to love you freely
Wounds this lover’s heart.

So end it now, my one true love.
Take your life from mine.
For to have you near but oh so far
Is torture of the cruelest kind.

I say that now; to end it all.
But we both know the truth.
I cannot walk away from you.
I know you love us both.

So I’ll keep this all locked deep inside
And suffer silently.
For if I were to let you go
It would be the end of me.

Off I go to the Land of Nod
Where reality sleeps and dreams are God.
Where waking thoughts slip away from me
And hidden fears the braver be.

'Tis a world of light and suspended form
Where changing scenes become the norm.
My mind revealing a secret held,
Not wanting to see where the demon dwelled.

A message veiled, the truth untold
‘Til I am ready to face the cold.
The cold, the stark, unsheltered truth
Was hidden from me in my youth.

Laid out only when I am ready.
Now I’m strong and finally steady.
A voice inside me knows the time
To bring it forth in pantomime.

To weave the tale, show it all.
Only then will the blinders fall.
My eyes are closed but yet I see
What my waking mind has hid from me.

I lay in a tub of bubbles thinking of your soft voice and gentle smile.
I feel your hand wrap around mine as we walk down the street.
I see our reflection in the shop windows.
We seem comfortable.
The shop owner mistakes us for husband and wife and we don’t correct him.
But somehow, you are not ready.

We spend a lazy day doing errands and paying bills.
You leave me in the car as you run in to book a moving truck,
Me ready to move the vehicle if we get scolded.
We are at easy and enjoying the day.
You tell me things you have not told anyone.
But somehow, you are not ready.

I beam as you approach the house, happy to see you.
You kiss me tenderly when we meet and again because the first one felt so good.
You give me a special gift when you didn’t really need to.
It is beautiful and suits me just like you knew it would.
You are tired and I understand you need to sleep.
No, you are not ready.

We talk for many hours about many things.
You do not want to tell all so I do not push.
I want to support you and let you know you can talk to me.
You need to talk to someone.
This is a hard time for you.
I know you are not ready.

We get closer, too close.
Closer than we both intended.
We know this may be a mistake but we are taken up in the moment.
You are strong but I lead you.
You pull back and I let you.
No, you are not ready.

You want this to be different.
We both want this to be special.
It would be nice if it could be.
We would both be happy, perhaps.
One day you will be ready.
But right now you are not ready.
I hope I am there when you are.