dancing angels

the sun-bronzed, curly-haired boy sits slumped against the neck of his chair and nods at me as I pass in my silver car. I am not driving one of the large trucks charting boats into the park and thus, he has no reason for stopping me. Parked parallel to him sits a red mini van (perhaps his mother’s mini van because he doesn’t own car yet?). Maybe he’s saving up the money he earns from sitting and waiting for boats. Maybe he will find a rusted-over, belly-almost-touching-the-highway kind of beast to call his own. He’d be one of those kids that christens their first car with a bottle of fizzy water and names it “Chuck”.

He just seems like that type. But what do I know?

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It’s kind of hard to tell what exactly she’s drinking, but it’s a melody of healthstuff with a root beer-tasting harmony. Strange. Brown. Dusty. Curious. She wonders if it will cleanse her liver or brighten or skin or simply cause grumbling gas bubbles in her stomach tomorrow at an unfortunate lull in a meeting. She hopes not the latter.

She swirls around the brown mass and takes another sip.

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A Simple Life

“Welcome to heaven” the trees seem to whisper as she plods along, oxfords crunching the cornflaked earth and wind rustling her heavy curls.

As nears the bench and looks out over the wide and wandering trees and meadows, her heart dies and goes to heaven, for she knows she is alone and this whole place is hers for the time. Interrupted only by the chatter of a simple sparrow or the crackle of leaves beneath her, she sits and breathes in the damp smell of earth.

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Goldfinches & Glory

Deliver me from the hopelessness of uncertainty; from the outcry of fear against my weary soul.
Deliver me from the grasping of wind; from the vain running after of rain.
It falls and I grasp, but find it slipping, slipping, slipping.

Deliver me from quick anger, hardened envy and wild bitterness that grows little nettles and thorns, fast as spreading wildfire.  It eats at life itself and grows, writhing, blackening, blackened; black.  

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A King & A Serpent

She listens. Quietly, carefully. O Mio Babbino Caro plays softly; the deep, melodic notes carry a strength of soul that touches her heart and her head and whispers quietly, carry on, friend, carry on. Outside it rains. Hundreds of miles away, fires crackle and smoke rises higher and higher above what was once green forest and sleeping homelands.

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