Why is it I see the tree, sometimes as if it was chopped down?

Each part into neat little sections, as if the cuts were intentional,

And I had something to do with it.

 

Perhaps I did.

Accepting decisions,

Making decisions,

Reacting,

Responding,

Or sometimes, just getting out of Dodge,

Even though, now I look behind,

No one was chasing me.

 

A life is not made up of just experiences,

People,

Places,

Things,

Homes and more.

No, it is the memories,

Good and bad which inform my next moves,

Or next stays.

 

Darn it, didn’t realize it was that simple.

 

Or perhaps it’s not after all.

Not just a jolt,

But a ritual,

The morning coffee sits, beautifully reheated from the microwave,

Steaming its wares at me,

Inviting me to start the day. 

 

With the sip formed from lips of addiction.

A gentle brush,

Such a minor unintended touch,

Of one leg passing another in the vestibule,

Creates a revolution.

 

As if a relationship has been made,

And kept dearly for years,

Daily routines,

Shared lives;

Pain and suffering.

 

And then its over; As if it never happened.

 

But it did.

 

The black and white rendered image of this firebird flower pretty much sums it up at present.

On the one side I am frazzled by all the input and changes in a life,

And at the same time, pleased about what has been achieved.

Rather like a climbing a mountain,

Ascending seemed like it was endless,

But now at the summit; I am rather pleased with myself.

 

The black and white rendered image of this firebird flower pretty much sums it up at present.

On the one side I am frazzled by all the input and changes in a life,

And at the same time, pleased about what has been achieved.

Rather like a climbing a mountain,

Ascending seemed like it was endless,

But now at the summit; I am rather pleased with myself.

It could only have been the plan of the Other,

Landing here, a million miles from my rainy start,

In a garden designed by God,

Tended by mortals,

One of which is me.

 

Thank God.