stars and sky and universe.

I sat with my mother on the balcony one night, and I thought I could see myself in her eyes, though hers are older than my own. I could see the stars and sky and universe in the planes of her face. She had a gentle smile, like a flower unfurling, and I smiled back. We held a steaming cup of tea and watched as the city lights slowly quieted down, curling up to go to sleep. Listening to the cars and busy soft sounds, as if it were a lullaby.

And now that I am growing infinitely older, and as the time passes, the distance between mother and daughter seems to be stars and sky and universe. But all the same, I know I'll always see myself in her eyes. Just as she is forever in mine, since the glint and sparkle and sunlit honeycombs of my eyes are all her.

new project.

i'm starting a new art project. i've been inspired by spring. I'm painting three 12x12" canvas of flowers in burnt oranges, whites, and deep browns (main color palette) because those are the three colors in my bedroom.

I think i might paint a poppy. and tulips. ah, the possibilities. i haven't painted flowers in a long time and am excited.

if i died young.

I'm young and green.

I'm still trying to anchor my roots into the earth. I still thirst for the cool puddle of water, aching to taste something. I still reach for my ray of sunlight, so that my shadow will make an imprint on the world. I'm still eager, eager. But I had a thought today, of how it would be if I died young.

I want the day of my ceremony to be a cloudless rain, with the humid summer air covering the earth in a soft and gentle blanket. I want my people to stand outside in the rain without umbrellas, looking up at the sky, with the gentle drops of rain on their bare and naked faces. With their eyes closed, let the summer sweet rain fall, like gentle kisses from me. Remind them that this weather, this lovely beautiful warm caressing rain, is a day I would love.

I don't want anything grand or overdone. I want a love song at dawn, I want a candle on the river in the soft glow of twilight,  and my oh my, I want you to smile.

simplicity.

I believe in simplicity. Truly I do. 

On most days, I believe in the simplicity of words. Stripped and washed cleaned of any extra padding, hung out to dry in the humid sun, where the descriptive and over-fluffed words melt into the air and disappear. I believe in the strength of a single word. And the strength of a period in ending a thought. I think saying

I love you.

is more powerful than saying a million words proclaiming how much you love someone. It is sweet and tender, and whenever I see those three words followed by a simple, happy period, I am overjoyed. Other people don't understand this part of me, instead they think I'm being short or abrupt. They don't see the sweetness of a few well-placed words. I think of words like God or Peace or Awe and I know, deep in my bones, the light and the beautiful music that accompanies those words.

I think this concept, for me, is derived by the way I see nature and life and the world around me.  My heart pounds when I see a lone tree in a field, or the small creek bustling over some rocks, or a little girl drawing smileys on the sidewalk. I remember seeing photographs of these quaint, beautiful farm houses. Where a girl walked through the corn fields. Where two girls laid down on the crisp grass and pointed at constellations. I remember the images of wild horses running on the sand, while the tide of the ocean rolls in.  I want to draw these moments in, form a patchwork quilt of memories sewn into my skin.  

In truth, I am a simple person. I think I could look at a river all day, and think about how a person saw it five, ten, twenty years ago. How where I'm standing a little boy once stood, learning about fly fishing from his father (who in turn had learned it from his father). I think of the way the river carved through the earth, etching its place in this world. And most of all, the river runs simply, moving through life in a gentle cascade of motion.

today.

i talk until my voice gets hoarse and crass, like sandpaper on sound waves. i see my words bouncing off your head, hyperactive buoyancy on a trampoline. the crescendo increases, comes to a wave's breaking point and tumbles over the rocks. i can't help myself, i just want to be heard. is that such a bad thing, to want you to listen to me? is it such a bad thing if i ask you to stop, stop it cause you're hurting me. and you don't seem to understand.

i talk until my voice dims down, and i can't speak anymore. you tell me to be quiet, you're making a scene, and soon i'm dumbed down. too hurt to care and much too hurt to talk anymore.