Hibernating

I know this problem is present, but it's no gift. It's like a nuisance, an allergy, clinging to my insides. 
            Hibernating, hiding. I wish it wasn't this way, but it's like friendship is winter, and I'm a grizzly who needs a long break, yearns for the bare comfort and nothingness of its cave.
            Or maybe I'm a magnet, where positive and positive can never meet. When things get too good with another being, and the positives draw near - so close to closure - I retreat.
            I thought I'd come home from the retreat, and things could be mended, I could be happy, build new bridges. The bridge; it is almost finished, with a bow wrapped around it, prepared for the ribbon-cutting ceremony. Instead, the bridge sits idle, already decaying, until one day when I have the courage to take a big pair of scissors and break the bond of the restrictive lazy ribbon and let the cars be free to roam, going wherever they may please. And I'll reign in the coming and going, the rise and decline, the ups and the downs - and stop shying away from the possibilities, expecting the bad parts, but savoring the good. One day.
         

Unlikely Treasures

We took a field trip to a long deserted beach, where the tide had once lapped at the sand we stood on, but had since receded back a few hun­dred feet.
Lit­tered in the sand were old gad­gets and giz­mos that peo­ple in the beach houses had once owned.
My eye caught onto a tele­phone from the 70’s. It was long anti­quated and the paint peeled in banana yel­low strips, but I knew the receiver had once lis­tened in on whis­pered con­ver­sa­tions, and the spin dial had once turned round and round to reach the voice of beloved friends. It held mem­o­ries, so many old mem­o­ries. Why would any­one want to throw that out?
Scat­tered on the deserted beach were more objects of the like, antique and rust­ing in time.
But to me, it wasn’t a junk­yard, it was a trove of forgotten treasures.

written on November 14, 2010 for the daily word "junkyard" on oneword.com

Let Her Eat Cake

Her brother called her fat all the time, even though she was thin as a pen­cil core and light as a lark's feather.
Watch­ing her eat annoyed him to no end.
Always being penul­ti­mate, he'd found a way to crit­i­cize her.
But she ate because she had a deep pas­sion for the art of cui­sine,
and because the del­i­ca­cies were just so exquis­itely deli­cious.
Going for the golden fluffy cook­ies, she couldn’t resist her­self from a sec­ond help­ing.
Tak­ing a bite into the floury good­ness, she blissfully rel­ished the del­i­cate lay­ers of vanilla dissolving on her tongue and the growing scowl on her brother’s face.

written on November 10, 2010 for the daily word "helping" on oneword.com

Impending Storm

Her golden hair blew furi­ously in the wind,
the waves crashed vio­lently against the tall char­coal rocks,
her crested cheeks turned crim­son from the chill,
and warmed up viciously as she remem­bered what he’d said one year and three months ago.
Rage was not some­thing she usu­ally let out,
but she’d held the bur­den for too long.
The dark volu­mi­nous storm clouds swiftly approached,
they couldn’t have framed her mood more per­fectly.
The water started to freefall from the spa­cious sky,
drop­ping harder faster and larger with every sec­ond,
set­ting the stage for a rag­ing hurricane.

written on November 1, 2010 using the daily word "stage" on www.oneword.com

Whimsical Wednesday

The golden ball hung in the sky, it sent rays down­wards, shin­ing shin­ing.
The cerulean blue was calm, it shim­mered shim­mered.
And the wind whis­tled softly but steadily, blow­ing blow­ing.
It caught onto the vibrant col­ors of the mast, apple red, bal­loon blue, and bright yel­low.
Dis­ap­pear­ing into the dis­tance, car­ry­ing hap­pi­ness to another place.
Sail sail away.

written on October 29, 2010 for the daily word "sail" on oneword.com

Mixed Melody

The sharpness of the siren pierced the air. She cringed and curled up in a corner.
Then came the giver of comfort. “Don’t worry child, listen closely, for it is a song.”

Written on October 27, 2010 for the daily word "siren" on oneword.com

Falling

Falling is inevitable. It's only a matter of time, before things decay and disappear.
             Empires fall apart, wars will start, human lives end, you lose a friend, spirits are crushed, good fruit is smushed, relationships are torn, animosity is born, possessions are broken, hearts are stolen.
             Perfection does not exist, when time holds the power to resist. It's a key we can never hold, an element out of our reach.
             Even leaves on a tree know one day they will twist off the branches, disconnect from their mothers and float, flit, and twirl slowly to the ground, but they are prepared for the time to come. That's why leaves change colors in the Autumn - they know they're going to fall, so might as well do it with some grace and beauty.
             Someday the fall will happen. Humans, objects, history will all be taken into its destructive grasp. But if we can predict the future and know that one day it will happen, we must embrace it. Accept the challenge and fall with style, elegance, and perhaps with a smile.