In and out of sync
Just when one thing falls into place, all too many times, some other thing seems to fall out of place.
This past week, while lying in bed, my one-year old son nestled up against me, I was thinking about various things. As I did so, my attention randomly settled on the breathing of my son and myself. His breaths were fast and shallow, mine were deep and slow, and somehow, they managed to stay in sync with each other, always matching up on the fourth inhalation.
your breathing
and mine
Your worst enemy: Imagination
My father-in-law was recently diagnosed with Stage 4 Esophageal Cancer that has metastasized to his liver. He wasn’t given a prognosis about how much time he has left, but a pretty bleak picture about the nature of his illness was painted for him.
How much time does he have left? Will he somehow, against horrible odds, beat this disease? It’s hard to say.
What is comforting, though, is that he has remarked many times, I’m completely satisfied with the life I’ve lived, so if I die tomorrow, I’m okay with that.
the doctor says
and the sky is still blue
Little Women
How quickly they grow up, right under your nose, without you even realizing it. One day, you walk into their room, and suddenly everything is different.
sitting on the shelf where
the dollhouse used to be
Habits and Routines
A few months ago, to help my wife ween our son off breastmilk, I began taking my son for walks at night. Now, when he is ready, he takes out the baby carrying strap that I use to hold him, gets my attention, and walks to the front door saying, Shoes. Shoes. Shoes.
As soon as we get outside, he points to the sky and says, Moon. Moon. Moon.
Sometimes it is right there for us to see, sometimes we have to go and look for it.
When I think of my son, I like to imagine him waiting all day for the moment that he finds the moon shining at night.
to see you shine
in the night
Writing from Reality
Last week, while driving to work, I pulled up to a red light and there it was, this poem, happening in real time, exactly how its written.
she stands on the corner
school bag in hand
The Artist
Any creative who shares their work finds themselves, in one way or another, in this situation. Sometimes it is nerve-wracking. Sometimes it is thrilling. Sometimes it is embarrassing. Sometimes it feels risky. Sometimes it feels like a transgression is being made. Sometimes it is subtle. Sometimes it is risky. Sometimes it isn’t. Sometimes it just is.
to all the world
words on a page
Memories
Looking back …
I leave my honor
here with you
