753. just breathe

What do you want to do today?

Just breathe.

Don't we do that everyday?

Nope.

OK. So how do we do this?

We let go of everything but the breathing.

Easy enough.

Simple, yes. Easy, no.

Will you teach me?

I was hoping you'd ask.

752. in your arms

"Baby, what are you thinking?" asked Em.

"Just about us."

"Yea?"

"Yeah."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"You wanna share?"

"Nope."

(after much tickling, Em on top of Trev, his arms pinned down)

"I'm giving you one more chance."

"You really want to know?"

"YES!"

"Well, I was thinking--"

"Yea?"

"When I'm in your arms . . ."

(Em smiles)

"Everything seems possible."

1944 (Tuesdays)

You are still young. There will be someone else for you. Just give this some time. And then the words would trail off. And Mary would sit alone.

Some said after the failed pregnancy, she was unconsolable. The last connection to Vigil gone, as was he, in the mud of a hospital tent, of eyes uncomprehending, of the flow of death and destruction pushing her from bed to street and that is when she thought of his arms that night, of having come home, if but for a night, of his arms the next day, limp, of no time to mourn, of no shoulder to lean, and, now, of the streets, of how they had no arms, as she had no arms, to hold or be held. No one was coming. She had touched the hand of God in a night. And said goodbye to it in the morning. And in her own crazy way, knew she had had more than most.

"Would you like another cup of coffee?"

"Yes please."

It was Tuesday. And down the street was the museum. She managed a smile as it rained, as if the sky weeped of sympathy, a nod from above to keep questions unasked as she greeted the docent, her face wet, her purse unwelcome, as it had been for years, on Tuesday.

plot/lyrics

I don't read books for plot and I rarely ever listen to music for the lyrics. Yet, I enjoy both, books and music, as much as food and water, and if you were to ask me to explain the plot/lyrics issue, I couldn't. Sometimes you just have to stop looking for explanations and just breathe in the meadows and turn your face to the sun.

Now, if you want to stand with me in the sun, and breathe deep of the meadows, I'll hold your hand. But I have to warn you, if you lace your fingers in mine, I'm not ever letting go. Just saying. :-)

One of my all time favorites (Free Hugs)

751. storms and trees

Only in the storm do you know the roots of the tree

quote attributed to Papa

poor soil

I once read the greatest wine comes from grapes grown in poor soil. That the effort of the vine to extract nutriments from the ground somehow lends itself to the sweetest and most complex of bouquets--in time; for in the pain of barren soil, those days of broiling sun, of cloudless skies and withered leaves, the promise of greatness seems but a dying man's dream.