Touching CheeksThey are sitting almost upon each other, stroking each other’s faces while they gaze into their lover’s eyes. Every once in a while, I think the guy must be saying something flattering or revealing, for the girl drops her eyes in a somewhat startled, obviously surprised way. Is she embarrassed or just being modest? Is he unveiling his secret self and telling her how much she means to him? She must not be feeling uncomfortably exposed, for she hasn’t pulled away, trying to hide. Instead, she reaches out, caresses his temple, twirls one of his golden curls around her fingers as she gazes off into the distance beyond their unified space. She must be digesting what he just said, or perhaps dreaming of their future together.
Another couple, at the opposite end of life and romance, sit cheek to cheek on a park bench, not looking at each other but looking forward, together. They do not speak, they do not gaze wistfully. They si
1000 Drops of RainA thousand drops of rain
Falling ten upon each head
From the rising sun here with me
To distant folk going to bed
A hundred fall in the desert
Every drop becoming a feast
A hundred more get lost at sea
Never seen by man nor beast
Some drops get frozen instantly
Others might turn to mist
I love those best that fall on me
My cheeks get gently kissed
Daddy's PrideHis eyes are beaming, soft and content. This is the best moment of his life so far. His tiny daughter screeches angrily in his arms, but she does not quite penetrate the cocoon of peace he is in. One tiny arm beats against his chest, and the effort finally pays off. He tucks her little beet-red arms snuggly back into her wrappings and hoists her up to his shoulder.
“Where is that bottle?” He wonders out loud. The nurses should be back with it by now. Soon, the bundle of hungry anger should be appeased, and he can resume his fatherly musings.
He plods to the door, patting his furious newborn on her swaddled bottom and bouncing slightly. Sure enough, here comes that nurse, Joyce, returning with a warm bottle, freshly prepared. She immediately hands it to the proud daddy, giving him a quizzical look along with the baby’s nourishment. He doesn’t even notice but turns smoothly around and strolls right to th
Design ModeIt’s going to explode! Stop! Slow down! I can’t keep up! Let me write these ideas down before you give me new ones! I get in design mode, and it just won’t stop. It swells, fills my head like a fat balloon, and I want to release some of it, set it free, make the idea or the design come to life, manifest in the physical world. I just wish I could capture all these ideas – or have them occur to me one at a time so they can each have their moment, rather than have them all crowded into the same few moments. They seem so wasted, like too much air in a balloon that is going to burst and destroy the balloon itself. I must find a way to record more of them. Yet stopping to write too often makes it all STOP. It’s an on-going dilemma. What to do?
Nature CleansingI sit there in isolation, lost in my cozy little world of nature. Turning myself into a human sponge, I begin absorbing the sights, sounds, and smells around me. I allow them to seep into my bones, into the skeletons in all the little hidden closets of my mind. Nature does its spring cleaning in the dusty house that is my soul. The burbling of water cascading over rocks is like a lullaby to my over-worked mind, replacing racing thoughts and oughts and musts and should-be-doings with ahhhh! and other deep sighs of tranquility. The breeze whispers its touch against my cheek, stealing the spotlight of awareness for a moment, caressing my heart like a lover’s touch. Ahhhh! I feel my anxiety, my tension, my worries release their hold and float away with the water. Nearby a woodpecker starts up his racket, but still it soothes me somehow, despite its turbulence. I imagine my troubles being pounded into the bark with ea