Sitting for an hour by
his bed watching him
deep in slumber,
so peaceful, so still, a
little blond haired boy
with a glistening tiny
trail of night drool from
his angelic mouth coursing
down one pink cheek,
generated no doubt by
his gentle snoring.

His every breath heard
and registered, as if they
were magical gifts to us
both from another realm.

What Childs dreams
must he be having?
What green fields does
he run with that spotted
old dog of his, who licks
his face clean of ice cream
or peach juice and never
leaves his side. Who fetches
a ball for as long as his little
boy will throw it.

Everything about his
Childs face makes me
smile. He turns six next
week, oh my how these
years have flown by.

My son, I never thought I
could love anyone as much
as I do you. As much as I
forever will.

There in that darkened room
a cold chill of momentary fear
ran through me, and I asked
myself, "Can I do this?
As a single parent, can I
raise my son all alone?"

Returning from the grocery store,
my only trip out in weeks,
I passed by our small town's
High School, all pandemic
deserted and shuttered now.

Slowing, I stopped my car,
taken by momentary joyfulness,
out there in bright blue Band
uniform on the football field,
a single drummer marched
all alone,

Her enthusiastic snare drum  
echoing out stirring, lonely
rhythmic staccato sounds.

This solitary stalwart drummer
practicing in the rain, rehearsing
skillful steps and robust drum
beats, until she gets the call.

Remaining ever ready when
normalcy reluctantly comes rolling
back around. Where marching bands
and football players once again tread
upon this nearly hallowed ground.

Sometimes I stick out from my friends a bit - I think. It’s the French in me. Americans have this excité-ment about things - that’s, well, exhausting.

Sometimes, when friends are jumping about, they practically plead for my engagement. I think I have a genetic, French reticence, an observer gene.

True, I have my moments of bitter COVID lock-down angst but I'm doing better than some friends. Maybe because the French live slowly - life is just moments - once a moment has passed, it’s gone.

I wait, in my secret gardens, like a cat on a settee, sipping small pleasures. The poet in me refuses to zone out - there are poems in the stillness.

When it stopped and I saw the target, a handsome 16 year old, part of me wanted to jump up and run. This party wasn’t with my usual friends - except my BFF Kim was there. These kids were 15 and maybe 16. I had just turned 14. We had been invited by an older girl-friend.

I couldn’t have been more nervous - the party had turned just short of terrifying - but there’s no way on God’s earth that I could chicken out. John and I shuffled towards each other on our knees.

He’s taller and as we drew together he bent toward me and I looked up - our lips touched, I felt his warm breath - WOW, his lips were soft.. I had to force myself not to pull back - my heart was pounding with the fear of embarrassment - what if he stopped - like, YUCK, and declared the whole idea an impossibly silly joke??

He didn’t - after a second I felt his strong left hand gently on the back of my head and he slightly rotated my head to the right and - OH, YEAH - we were able to draw deeper into the kiss (I’d seen that in MOVES - now I understood). His lips were so smooth, slightly slippery and warm - I was breathing WAY deeper then and felt a twining in interesting places.

His right hand pressed my lower back and he fetched me closer and, boy, we REALLY fit - I felt my ******* pressed to his chest - I wasn't sure what to do with my hands - they were sort of out to the side. His tongue fleetingly touched my lips and the tickle was electric.

My lips parted a little - he drew me even closer - his tongue playfully connected with mine and I seemed to short circuit - I drew in breath sharply, through my nose - which sounded enormously loud to me. WOAH, this was getting intense, I put my palms to his shoulders - should I push away??

“Time!,” the girl timing the kiss called.

We stopped actively kissing and he started easing off the pressure holding us together - I leaned back on his hands a bit as I searched for balance. Our kiss-seal broke and I gasped a little, which fortunately, sounded like a laugh and everyone laughed as we pulled apart. I glanced at his face and he was smiling warmly - I blushed explosively and looked down.

I put my right hand on my skirt as I scooched back in place and someone placed the bottle back on the center of the circle.

I was still looking down because I could tell my face was beet-red but my eyes found Kim, I smiled and give her a telepathic holy-COW. My first REAL kiss.

I left the circle before someone could spin me. There's no way that I was going to do that again.

I used to be excited on Fridays.
I used to have interesting plans.
My weekends were non-stop hectic,
my time was in high demand.

Now I live in repeated patterns,
I’m a servant to boring routines.
A fleshy teenage automaton,
waiting for science to intervene.

Oh, I'm readier than a girl-scout,
I’m more prepared than a marine,
I’ll be out the door like a cartoon coyote,
the second I’m shot with vaccine.

I was once a Wolf and
ran free in the woods,
Now I'm a tired old dog
that hides in the barn.
Such is the way of aging
and change.

No sunshine in two weeks,
a smoky shroud has descended
upon the land, the tomatoes
turning black on the vines. I can
not see beyond 100 feet, colors
of green disappeared, all is brown
or yellow, ash is gently falling like
bits of grey snow, the air outside
dangerous to breathe, smelling of
wood smoke, reeking of the burned
up hopes and dreams of my neighbors
less than twenty miles away.

Each day the smoke colors change,
red, brown, orange, yellow, eerie
unnatural day time colors, at times
darkness like night at mid day. The
winds have gone and the smoke
has become a choking noxious fog.
This must be how the dinosaurs died.

The news says we have the most
dangerous polluted air quality in
the entire world. Wearing a mask  
even inside my closed shuttered
home. Taking pandemic "self isolation"
to a whole new level.  

I dreamed last night of deep
blue skies, untainted air,
walking the orchard with my
dog, the sun and a smile on
my face. Upon awakening the
reality shroud of smoke remained.

They say some rain might
fall this week, that wind
from the sea will intervene,
blow the smoke East, restoring
the colors of the sky, the sun
and land, breathable air.

I hope that's all true.