Sometimes it takes a friend to speak up before I move to action. In this case there were a couple of you for which I am deeply grateful. My will to write, to shoot, and to share have waned and a part of who I am was lost momentarily. Although my camera still waits, my words I release.
You were 42, 37, 24, and a thousand yellow flowers.
I was wrapped up in a cocoon of purple with the blue sky above me.
A hundred days go by or maybe two.
Enigma and bliss blur together, I muddle emotion like a mint julep.
I have the words in my head and let them fall silent.
My heart is exposed and the words tumble forth.
Shake, books, everyone is Bob, angels in my pocket, and your eyelashes brush my cheek.
A curl of dark hair, skeptical and sincere.
Tiny fingers that wrap around my hair, the sweetest gift.
Nothing will surpass you three.
Water, mud, white linen, and bean bags.
All that has been, every experience, only excites me for the future.
Can I have this forever, can I bottle this life?