If we are a story, we are a timeless tale.
Weathered pages that smell of dust and vanilla.
Leather spines and oil fingerprint stains on well thumbed pages.
We are timeless.
A story that lasts.
A happy ending.
A myth.
A fable.
Legendary and beautiful.

And you.

You are the Author.

With Grays and Blues
Awake before the grayscale
Is abolished by morning sun
Leaning naked in the doorway
Watching snow slip
In that silence before birdsong

walking crooked fenceline
The steam of horses
Nostrils flaring kiss her
As the dogs dance behind
snow still now on the hillside

She reads alone
Laughing spilled wine
words she drinks
Content to leave
The kitchen light on

curled again
Linen sheets and quilt
cool skin
She swims
In dreams
Of gray and blue

I saw an old blue jay today
unashamed of his baldness.
His beautiful crown reduced
to wispy sprouts of gray,
every which way
like a patient after chemo.

Beauty cannot exist
without suffering

I saw our rabbit’s kits yesterday,
they looked like little piglets
nestled in her nest of fur and hay,
plump and tender bodies,
tempting feasts for
creatures of the night.

Peace cannot exist
without fear

I saw a hummingbird this morning
and heard her vibrating chirp.
Cautious yet eager she
bobbed and dipped for sustenance
a thousand miles from home
like a prisoner of war.

Home cannot exist
without longing

I see an orangey moon tonight
pierced across the breast by clouds,
in halves instead of whole.
A symbol of the way things are,
a broken world that
few take time to notice.

Consciousness cannot exist
without ignorance

I looked in your eyes just now
and saw love.

Sickness, disease, danger and fear,
loneliness, loss and uncertainty
is, was, and forever will be
washed away in their blue,
at least for me.

Certainty cannot exist
without love

Of this I am certain