What's your summer like?

I'm relaxing in a hammock. with a blanket for the wind.
Painted my nails this morning, and they're already a little dented.
Dog cruled up nicely on the grass next to me.
Looking up at the sunlight through the leaves, but perfectly shaded.
Pandora is playing.

This is one facet of a perfect summer day.

I feel like I could fade into the wind.
Not even my sunburn could keep me tethered.
Why did we build indoors?
How do we get stuck there?
Its not where we belong.

Well. Maybe if its raining.

Moonlit Flowers

Here is a little more from Celia Land. Such a work in progress, but this is one of my very favorite bits.

The pic isn't much, but its all I had for night time.

It was Saturday. She was painting. Not directly on the walls, but on some cardboard she had tacked up. It was a nightscape, planets and stars and every thing in dark, moonlit shades. The flowers that grew by the moonlight were the most stunning. They represented her soul. As she understood it. All the nights she had the later shift, and came home and went outside to stare at the stars. Sometimes she waited and the clouds never gave her a hole. Sometimes she fell asleep and woke, freezing, to the most beautiful sights. Constellations she had memorized, slowing moving across the sky to positions she’d never before witnessed due to the stupid sleeping schedule inflicted on her by others.

            Those nights her soul was the flowers, beautiful and dim. No longer stunning and resplendent as they had been in the day. This night had been going on about two years now, and she didn’t see the sun begging to rise anytime soon. For the flowers in the painting, they would never see day, perhaps they never had. Her soul felt the same, it vaguely remembered the times before, when her hair was light and she had danced through her house, driving Amanda crazy. But now things were different.

Welcome to Summer

I redecorated for you. Now what to say.
As always I have been terribly unfaithful.
Even now I have no idea what to say. 
So many choices, story, poem, random stuff about my life.
Or I could go dig up something I've already written. Yep, I pick that one.

This is from my NaNoWriMo attempt in November:

She sat in the center of the shop against the wall and sipped the warm sugar and caffeine slowly. She watched as people flowed in and out irregularly. People are not like the tides, they do not march to a regular beat, but their different rhythms swirl around each other beautifully. Celia sat sometimes with her eyes closed, sometimes with her brain miles away. 

 

A Half Truth

The air is relentless in its moving

In it’s rushing by

Can you see why we’re cold?

Because we never stop

When you run out of breath

When you are forced to stop.

When I hurt too much to run

That is when we’re warm.

The air stops swirling around

And for a moment

All is calm

There is no fear

Only warmth.

Then the wind remembers

The breeze continues on its pilgrimage to find what can’t be found by going

And you move

And I move

We are gone

Swallowed perpetually by the cold

Two “I”s

Separated by this blizzard without snow

But no one would ever know

No one would ever know.

--

     I wrote this back in February, found it today, and thought it was worth a post, especially as I am so unfaithful to you all.

Dreams are my enemies. 

        They remind me what reality lacks.

                  In them I live what I cannot hope for.

     Makes it harder to try to adjust.

Even though 

...I know...

You were right.

When endings are not endings

But merely states of change

The ice falls into my brain

Slowing shutting me down

I fight to move

I fight to live

I would rather give up

But then 

Its not just me that's here

I have to talk

I have to move
Not for my benefit, but yours

Quickly the ice is in reverse

Back from whence it came

I talk I move I breathe

In this moment
I live for you