1/08
It is safe to say that my husband is a little obsessed with
sports. I do not think a day goes by that he is not making “bets” or talking
about sports. Well it would appear that it is time for the NFL playoffs. I am
aware of this information because this afternoon he was yammering on about the
NFL playoffs to his dad. My father-in-law looks at me and says, “What an
excellent use of grey matter.” I was surprised. I have never heard him be
sarcastic, until today. I haven't laughed like that in a while.
01/09
Trust can only be what we allow it to be. Some keep trust
chained up like a dog to a tree. Every time it thinks it has been set free, it
is yanked back by its neck and knocked off its feet. While others hold trust,
captive waiting for it to sing like a canary in a gilded cage. There are those
that put trust away in the dark where no one can hear it scream. There are few
that still treasure trust with its dust and broken hues, but when held out.
there is still light that shines through.
01/10
I find myself deep in thought, as if this were my choosing.
The sun has set and left me with my musing. As is my want my thoughts are
random becoming tangent, with this I cast them upon the shore to be washed away
once more. I sat and waited for whatever it is that I am waiting for. I struggled
to catch my thoughts once more. I remember that I walk where the fairies lead
and wade into the waves once more. To some I lost my sanity but truth will tell
that it was never mine to keep.
01/11
Love is a bird that has forgotten how to fly. Perched upon
the soul longing for a place to go. It sings a song. It weeps. Waiting for
someone to keep. In silence, it hears a whispering of wishes, a fluttering of
feathers. Love gazing into the dark forever, blind. Love hoping against hope,
believing in hope, stepping out on the tightrope of trust. Trusting that hope
will not fail. The wind of lies blows, rustling of feathers. Losing balance,
looking down into the abyss. Balance lost. Love stretches it wings, takes
flight and slowly dies for you and me.
01/12
There are two that travel, slaves to the south wind driven
forward by its lashing at their backs. A Seer and a Tale Weaver, they seek
forgotten places seen by the Seer. They travel on the tale that the Weaver
weaves. These travelers two had once been three. The Seer seeks yet cannot
hear. The Weaver weaves and cannot speak. The third of the two could not see,
but heard what the seer sought, spoke words into the weavers’ thoughts. The
third, the watcher, unseeing but all knowing knew that nothing but misfortune
and despair waited for these travelers three.
01/13
Sometimes I hate words. Silence, sometimes I hate that too.
Most of all I hate when the voices in my head, the ones that I had silenced
start, whispering to a scream. The thoughts I think, mental chatter makes me
crazier than the Mad Hatter. There never seems to be a White Rabbit to chase
down a hole when I need one. There are days that I wish I had just grinned like
the Cheshire Cat and taken the blue pill. This rabbit hole is deep and
seemingly never ending. Don’t believe me. Ask the voices in my head.
01/14
It is very discouraging when my brain stops working. I
forget what it is that I am doing, and I can not remember what it is that I
have done. I remember that I had thought of what I was going to write for my
hundred words today. I forgot them, all of them. I guess they were not worthy
of being captured and put into written form. Or perhaps, just maybe, they are
words that have hidden themselves away to be captured again another day. They
are the secret words that hide in the quite places of the heart.
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