January 2013

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 This beautiful life:

orange hued at sunset

soft

and rime laden at dawn

sun, sun, sun,

the first sweet blossoms

and a ghost of fall

the borderland

then

home

and a man who cooks.

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Darling

I am tired and fighting illness. My hands are dry. I am happy and dreaming of heat. My feet are cold. I am wearing long underwear that I’ve had since junior high. My eyes see blue sky and the ever-so-subtle sway of birch branches. I am listening to Califone.

Soon, I will be on the couch, napping or finishing a quilt. But now, I am here, searching for words.

Where are you, dear reader, on this icy blue day?

Scaling mountains, maybe, skis strapped to your back.

Sitting in a cozy coffee shop, sipping a steaming latte.

Walking a giant dog, frozen grass crunching under your feet.

Driving across miles, music in your ears.

Still no words.

Stay on the seat a minute more.

Something will come.

A bird alighting on the window sill.

A ring of the door bell.

Something. Someone.

Truth.

Or maybe nothing.

I choose the nap…

Multiply

People who deal with life generously and large-heartedly go on multiplying relationships until the end.

Arthur Christopher Benson

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Sixty-Four

Happy Birthday, Daddy! You’re a Beatles song now.

XOXO

Frosty

Happy Birthday, Chris!

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