a poem of healing surfaced on aug 24, 2024
a poem of healing surfaced on aug 24, 2024
It’s 02/2022. Woohoo.
(does the period make it sound ironic? it’s not supposed to be. well, maybe a little…)
Like the ripple of bed-warmed toes — at or about seven am — into a frigid crystal lake upstate.
A touch poetic.
Have you ever had one?
I can always hear them before I see them.
Today, I took my first real breath.
Spring forecasts held slight showers, gusts of wind, and hopeful sunshine. Fresh air. Free spirits. Catch me outside laughing a little more lighter and smelling the sweet roses.
When it rains, it pours.
Take notes; it's important.
Still, I can't see well. But I can be well.
How are you? is a very open-ended question. Very. Good is the passing answer. The passable answer. The non-answer. The real answer is well...
It was exhilaratingly refreshing to step outside, alone and unburdened, and go.
I hadn't seen a single palm tree in three whole weeks since California.
That smile is a snapshot of a soul filled to the brim with an uncontrollable, uncontainable burst of joy.
The honeymoon phase, the rush of adrenaline, the novelty of it all is fading. I suppose I'm living the college life.
Days feel full. Long and full and suddenly gone.
Where the good way is…
It felt like a relay race. The moment I stopped running, the train started its run.
…jumped over the sun.