Slow down, breathe, let me catch the dream
I left it on the couch last night
Now twisted in the sheets
Did you ever have a dream slip through your memory, then desperately try to get back to that time and place again, only to be disappointed that the magic has disappeared, right before you. Can it be? It felt like love. The heart is such a complex little contrivance. This morning, my heart is full of love. There are just so many words that spill over on top of each other, wandering loosely about. I gather them and hold them tight. Being totally out of one's control, sometimes life gets in the way. All you can do is step back a moment, and breathe. Remember to exhale. Slowly, deliberately, with meaning.
It is singular how soon we lose the impression of what ceases to be constantly before us. A year impairs, a luster obliterates. There is little distinct left without an effort of memory, then indeed the lights are rekindled for a moment — but who can be sure that the Imagination is not the torch-bearer? Lord Byron
Close your eyes
Make a wish, blow those seeds
Brings good luck
But only if you believe the magic
I can remember doing this very thing over and over in my childhood, then again when I had children of my own. I am pretty sure that I felt a tingle of delight as I closed my eyes, nice and tight. To make the magic happen, you had to believe.
It was a day of childish laughter, bubbles, and hopscotch. I am sure that everyone has blown at least a few thousand bubbles. It is remarkable that something so simple can bring so much joy - to so many people. It doesn't discriminate against sex, race, or religion. There are streams of laughter; people have fun blowing bubbles and trying to catch them.*
And just like that, these words are done. I want to thank you for strolling along with me through the musings of my mind. Some days, I just have to let them go, giving them freedom, spread across the pages, to say what they say and do what they wish. No judgment.
All I have are my words, armed in my mind, written in pen, stand by stand. Oh, yes. Still by hand. It has a different feel. Altered not by keys, backspace, and delete, I write, erase, tear it to pieces and start all over again. And again.
It’s my way. I walk out to the deep end of the page and dive right in.
The Naming of Cats
The Naming of Cats is a difficult matter,
It isn’t just one of your holiday games;
You may think at first I’m as mad as a hatter
When I tell you, a cat must have THREE DIFFERENT NAMES.
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