Thursday, July 30, 2015

{ fishbowls + portholes } - writer. observer. austin, tx

There is smoke rolling from an open window.
It's 4pm and the sheets are rumpled in a passionate way.
There is a porthole that exposes nothing but a reflection.
Cheers above a coffee table and they scatter to the noisy street.
So many stories, they go up and they fill my mind.
Lights turn on and others turn off.
Stairwells and picture frames trying to feel like home.
Broken promises and futures unknown float in the air like bad perfume.
It's 8pm and who knows what the truth is.
The later is gets the fewer there are to see but they are certainly more vivid.
If you have an imagination and empathy they may break your heart.
Who knows what the fish see when they look out.

Thursday, July 16, 2015

{ the great fire } - yogi. music lover. thinker. austin, tx

Sometimes I do this thing where I replay a song...continually for hours.
Same song, over and over.
A song will strike me, beg to be played again and then it deepens.
It digs into the fibers of my mind, I'm humming it on the trail, singing in the store, anxious to play it again.
I have to start turning it up really loud to feel the musical vibration and let the words permeate my bones.
I'm convinced there is a healing magic in music.
Perhaps it's the connection to someone who makes melody and shares words to match my emotion.
I get stuck in the loop and the beautiful tune pulls my heart through my eyes and down my cheeks.
I coast down hills and swirl around curves and the music pushes me on.
The door closes and the volume goes up.

Thursday, July 9, 2015

{ the smallest } - yogi. writer. lover. daughter. austin, tx

He looked up at her and his grin suggested he wanted to know all her secrets.
Weeks later she could see the threat that they imposed on his world.
She's the fragrance you lift your nose to catch in the breeze.
Her hair is what you crave to curl your fingers into as you pull her close.
You'd know her stride from more than a block away.
You blush at the sound of her voice through the phone.
But her heart can't be yours even if she's willing.
You'd dive head first into her bathwater to have her on your skin.
If she could be carried in your shirt pocket you'd tuck her away there.
Just to feel her snuggled next to your chest and humming her strange song.
She is no trinket, not a thing to be bought or held.
There is fire beneath her skin.
She warned him not to stoke it.
Now they'll both burn.

Wednesday, July 1, 2015

{ when i looked ahead } yogi. artist. lover. austin, tx

"What do you see when you close your eyes and think of the future?"

I answered exactly what I saw, I told her that I saw myself and my girls were there too. Then I said there was a dark haired baby. Oh god how hard this was.

"And are you happy?"

With apprehension I admitted that we all looked very happy. Why was it so hard to see myself full of joy?

"Tell me where you, the girls, and the baby with dark hair are and what you are doing."

I knew I had to keep being honest and open and saying what I saw. Well I said, we are outside someplace. It was the only answer I had because the location was so unfamiliar.
There were no stand out features, I just knew we were outdoors because I could feel the sun on my shoulders and a breeze against my neck.

"What are you doing?" She prodded once again.

A tear spilled from my eye and left a warm path down my cheek. I told her what I was doing in the future, I was painting.
I was outside, with my loves all around me and I was painting some silly picture and I was sublimely happy.