Waking to Summer

sleeping in

You left your paintbrush

on the hillside vibrant orange

paint running

for not-so-subltly finding

what might be sooner wished forgotten

Love

I could not speak the heart words….No

more kindly trying to distance

to own a different view

a compass shaky kneed and needled new

an eisel pointing eastward, skyward blue

into tomorrow

until

Morning

breaks soft, hard boiled eggs

to giving not to taking

to waking warm in beautiful embracing

the broken runny sunnyside

to serve my eyes in indoor outdoor

breakfast in bed….

break slow and savory

the glide of new washed sheets

the maple syrup  slab of bacon is this…..

my immoveable

Yet fog hangs hashbrown low to stratus clouds

depression

just not the usual coffee drive from Starbucks

but one I’d give and take most gratefully

in navigating this vessel toward the sun

with you

I commandeer some days

more cautiously in better seeing

Inside my pearl

from whence I set the toaster magnet

I whirl the dial to elemental gratitude

resetting dark for lightness

inspite of crumb trays

Beyond the greasy streak, the pain, the strained torn silk screen

the lovely polished stars and  crystal glass

the Sunday silverware

beyond the first of summer waking

the palid pallette,  pigment caking: Still

Still am I

in taking back my peace

and presence

I recess here

a cave of blankets

I rest less guarded

my  pillowed soul in Natures arms with no agenda

Soft looks, soft hands, soft parting

soft memories

soft ends, soft startings of summer

do stroke a heart within a swelling banded rainbarrel

a past, a present…..future

all tossed by wind and rainwash

to rendered plush and downy soft

sweet  please and thank you

I take for granted

the quaking aspens, the pussywillow larva

a watercolor rain

a silken azure scarf and train

a billowing brandy nightgown

a wash of sage and cedar green

Amidst Erosions greedy hands of waste and time

I taste

recycling

the land: a million weathered faces

trace streams  for tears of runoff

the weathered riddled rock cut from the bowling green

rocks rolling,  toe-gripping a settled place

hands chilled to fear

reset

to narrow knuckled buckled steering

wheels this my wary soul

front tiering divided one-lane highways

barricades and boundaries

semi-accepted

heavy set

the slow path

which leads through reconstruction

a lonely nothing never-ending-story

where once I found a smiling

almost friend beside me

Here ends another school year

begins another

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About hrobertson2013

“Each man ( and mermaid) will be like a shelter from the wind and a refuge from the storm, like streams of water in the desert and the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land”. Isa 32:2 NIV Warning: The author of this blog is not an ordinary individual. Even Mermaids need a rest from all that's real and grown up. Welcome to the wonder of blog. Come be audience to all that's wet and wild in her stories, poems and thoughts. Instructor by day, super hero by night, and mystical mermaid by summer. Whenever she has the fortune of diving into a pond, reservoir, or mountain waterfall, you'll find her there swimming, and singing songs of life.
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