still the same year in here

A new house, same creatures surrounding. A new season; last it was creeping around and out of the winter, and here we are, creeping into it. The windowsill is adorned with the jokes of the forced natural past; we've the plasticmade dreamcatcher, beaded, feathered & chimed; an avocado, ripening in its avocadant opportunity; little puffed leaves of all the succulents, the dying jade from chicago, the spiny triplets from boise, the tall, pencil cactus from new york; half a geode; an ancient pinecone snatched from cabin; shells, corals, and other seaside accoutrement; a tin animal-covered box from the third grade.

The table, too, with its copious corns. Plentiful horns. 

But the finalizing of college, the escape, and the duties held. By the end of to-day I will have made the right impressions.

in yearn for summer

...and not even the summer. I believe it was october, but in the painted desert october is still as it is, I assume, always, dressed in lavender, sage, coral, copper, vermilion, powder blue. In the dust, in the warm of a breeze, in the waiting is where I find myself, now. I know, it's february, and it's appreciated, please believe. But also, it is perfectly sunlit today, and for hours I've felt that gentle promise of a future filled. So without a doubt I know the glory of it! in idaho, a june or july & even a may fulfilled. All the things worth awaiting. Until, I've got a solid grasp. my feet in the sand, a heart filled, the creatures & soft flesh touches of the variants which curl up to make a smile or a sigh in me. As I've always said. The waiting & the patience make some worth.