I have always felt safest underwater. My fondest memories are childhood summers spent at home with my strong, capable, joyful father sitting in a chair counting laps. He would be happy to just sit, and count well into adulthood. I knew he was there, waiting, whenever I came up for air, lingering a moment too long. Mesmerized by the summer sun, and the light patterns dancing across the blue vinyl.
Time moves fast separating the then from the now What if I imagined a palm tree pause?There’s a place beyond the palms where the wind blows hot Where the sunshine is warm and sweetSavor the good fortuneDon’t sweat the small detailsLife is not supposed to feel only goodOr only badIt’s over in less than a minuteDon’t blink or you might miss itThe pink grains of miniscule seashells wash up on shore Sands of
In His Boots The mementos we hold on to, heirlooms we choose not to discard and throw away. All the traditional, routine ways we try to live inside the memory of someone, some one precious, beloved. To feel them near in the physical awhile longer can seem foolish and nonsensical. It’s ridiculous to think an oversized, outdated, uncomfortable pair of black boots with fleece lining and thick rubber soles hold