Feb. 03 - These Are The Things Women Know About Love

That it can come up gently behind
and wrap its arms around you.
Love can surprise and delight,
it can press you up against
a wall in a passionate kiss.
Women also know love can
cause you to weep, its tender
longing nearly impossible to bear.
It can cut open your vulnerable soul
leaving a raw and throbbing pain
at the base of your throat.
Women know love can make you
blush and smile a fool's grin, it can
make you whisper sweet honey
filled words under a summer moon.
But most importantly, what
women know about love is that
it should be nurtured and fed,
allowed to ripen into the soft
bodied fruit that only grows from
the seed of commitment.
It is comfort when passion is
sleeping, it is quiet company
at the end of the day.
Love holds your hand
when you are ill, forgives you
when you forget to stop for milk.
Love touches you softly on your
cheek when you need consoling.
Women know love, true love
never leaves your side.
It grows and changes from
the raging river of desire to
a deep calm you can swim in.

Feb. 02 - Find Your Way in A City

Feb. 01 - Write About A Kiss

artschoollovers by darcyadelaide

The first tender kiss a girl
receives from a boy is
the one she carries with her
the rest of her life,
tucked into a special pocket
of her heart and imprinted with
the last of her childhood innocence.
She remembers the fluttering
inside her body, the rise of
foreign passions,
the look in his eyes before
he bends forward to bring
his lips to hers.
When their lips touch
she feels a pain in her heart
that tells her
she will never be the same.
She closes her eyes and walks
through the doorway of desire,
taking her first step toward womanhood.

Jan. 31 - "The first time I wore ____"

The Meaning of Flowers And The Color of Love

The first time, I wore white, the color of pureness and innocence expected of a new bride. I wore my future mother-in-law's old fashioned dress, though it was too large for my small busted form. No matter how much I stuffed and pinned, I could never fit that dress. The dress was someone else's expectations of me and that will always lead to disappointment.

The second time I searched my closet for the one dress I felt pretty wearing, a simple knee length sun dress that was of no one else's choosing and fit me perfectly. With premonition, as if my soul already feared he would someday leave me to mourn the loss of his love, I wore the color of death and funerals. I wasn't superstitious and I was in love.

I will pay attention to color and fit the third time. I will wear a dress the color of faith and trust. I will carry a bouquet of peonies symbolizing a joyful marriage, violets for faithfulness, and lily of the valley for the return of happiness. I will be superstitious and look for meaning in everything.

Jan. 30 - Write About A Forbidden Activity

Jan. 29 - The End of the Day

In the morning
the demands of the day
pull and stretch
the threads that hold
our family together.

We go our separate ways
dispersing to the east,
the west, and south,  to
our prospective duties
as citizens of this world.

But when the day
is content we've met
our obligations to it,
those threads pull us
back to safety.

For these aren't threads
that imprison us,
but a bond of the heart,
a cozy blanket to wrap
ourselves in at the end of the day.

A Note About the Blank Posts :)

Due to illness, mine own and my little one's, working, job hunting, and just life in general I have fallen behind on the blog. However, I want the posts to show up in chronological order according to the book, so please be patient with the blank posts. I intend to go back and fill them in!

Jan. 28 - Write About "the sky you where born under" (after Joy Harjo)

Jan. 27 - Write About A Used Car

By the time she was hauled off, that old gray car had logged many miles zig-zagging across the country. There were two trips from Washington to Ohio and back with two little girls, trunk loaded with clothes, food, and camping gear. One night on the road, weary and ready to find a place to stop, we ventured into Dinosaur National Monument on the Colorado side and followed the signs to a camp ground nestled in a little canyon. On our drive back out of the canyon the next day, I was slightly alarmed at the thin, bumpy road we'd traveled in the dark and the severe cliffs that sometimes hugged the little road. As we rose out of the canyon and back onto the main road we noticed a large park sign that read "Passenger Cars Not Advised".

That same car carried a newborn baby boy home from the hospital one late July day in 1999. The back seat was adorned with melted crayon from young artists who forgot to gather supplies from a hot car ride and a piece of string tied with a permanent knot hung from the hook over the right passenger door. It gave transportation to two restless girls, a wailing baby, and a gaggle of pill bugs that one little girl insisted make the move from Washington to Texas and unfortunately died along the way. The car came with me after the divorce. She would be loaded up many more times with tents and camping gear, make a few trips from Texas to Ohio, and many trips from San Antonio to Austin and back. By the time she'd been run to her limits a deep history had been worn into her upholstery. The driver's seat had begun to sag and rip and her engine sounded rough.

It is no wonder we can become attached to our cars and even name them. They carry us through life on air filled tires as documentation to our adventures, a mobile time capsule of our lives. Our stories are written with every turn of the odometer. And so it was with great sadness I watched her old gray form get towed off to the salvage yard. I said a little thank you for all the dependable years she gave us and watched as the tow truck turned the corner and disappeared.

Jan. 26 - Describe the Contents of Someone's Closet

Jan. 25 - Shadows

It's odd how we fear
something we can run
our fingers through
as easily as the light
that creates it.

Without shadows,
there would be no
depth to our souls,
no place to retreat
from the glaring light.

I will not fear
my shadows, for they
dance with the light
in a beautiful waltz
that is my life.

They are my tears,
moody days, angry words
spoken a little too loudly,
but  without them my smile
would be worth nothing.

Jan. 24 - Write About Leaving

Jan. 23 - Write A Love Letter. To Anyone.

Jan. 22 - In the Meantime...

One day
we will dance
in the sunshine,
my hand in yours,
your cheek pressed
softly to mine.

In the meantime
we struggle with
what it means to love
in a tough world
indifferent to our
needs and desires.

Jan. 21 - Write About Something You Bought Mail Order

Jan. 20 - Look Out Your Window And Write What You See

The window view shows a neglected back yard, weeds in the flower beds and vegetable garden, a patchy lawn. A seldom used hammock fills up most of the patio. Empty flower posts are scattered here and there. A broken hummingbird feeder hangs empty from the patio roof. An old dog sighs in his sleep on cool concrete among a tricycle and other outdoor toys.

In better times, husband and wife cuddled on the hammock and napped or read books to each other. The gardens flourished with bright flowers, herbs, and heirloom tomatoes. The dog, younger then, chased after sticks thrown by a little boy. The hummingbird feeder dripped bright red sugar water that attracted the tiny jewel colored creatures to dine.

Though the yard was small, the couple had previously lived in a dreary downtown apartment. This house was paradise to them, a place they could stretch out a little bit and not feel confined by concrete. They were happy and grateful for how far they had come.

That little patch of green held outdoor dinners straight off the grill, birthday parties, long heart felt conversations, and backyard camp outs. Once, under a warm starry night, the couple made love on a blanket in the sweet soft dew covered grass. On sunny days laundry dried in a slight summer breeze, hung across a line that stretched from one end of the small yard to the other.

Then things began to happen. In their struggle with daily life a distance began to creep between the couple. Money problems overwhelmed them. The dog grew old and limped on aching hips. A drought and oppressive heat scorched  the landscape. Suddenly the little space felt confining and no one wanted to go out there anymore. It had become a place of sadness. The curtains were drawn over the window to block out the despair.

But it doesn't end there. Look out the window again. Someone has just recently cleared the garden. A moist and mild winter quenched the dry earth where grass once again grows. The unruly lantana has been trimmed and the lemongrass is coming back. Soon, seeds will be tucked into the ground and flowers filling the empty pots. A new hummingbird feeder will hang with its bounty. When the first seeds burst open with their tender young leaves they will be sprouting new beginnings. Look carefully and you will see hope.

Jan. 19 - Remember A Sound

Skokomish, Quinault, Elwha, Dosewallips
water smoothing stone on its journey
from cool glacier to rushing river
glittering with salmon and trout,
you sing softly to me even now
in this place of heat and drought.

Sweet mountain music,
I long to quench my dry lips
baptize my soul in the depths
of your calming lullaby, to fill
my lungs with pine scented air.
Oh, how I miss your soothing tune.

Sing me to sleep tonight and
wash away my longing.

Jan. 18 - It was Noon and Nothing Is Concluced

The problem is
trying to see where that
next step will take her.
She moves through
the mid-day of her life
with caution,
tiptoeing between hours
knowing time is fragile
and her heart vulnerable.
She is quick to love,
too easy to forgive.
Perhaps a weakness,
but it is also her beauty.
She walks
through the high noon
of time's brutal passing
with nothing concluded and
much to gain or lose.
She must be careful and deliberate,
holding all the possibilities like
young doves in her palms,
knowing they could fly away
at a moment's notice
startled by the choices
others in her life could make.
Half her life gone, half
an uncharted map before her.
She wants to get it right,
to avoid a pile of what-could-have-been's
at the end of the road.
She wants to love freely
and be loved in return.
She wants fairness and justice,
to view with wide open eyes
the beauty of her world,
but most of all,
she wants to get it right.

Jan. 16 - Write About A Bed

As the time drew near for your arrival, dear little one, we did what all anxious parents do. We assembled your bed. We placed it near my side of our bed for easier night time feedings. When we finished, I ran one hand over your little blanket and rested the other on my large stomach to feel your movement. I longed to hold you in my arms.

I will never forget the moments leading up to your birth, from my water breaking early in the morning, the excitement of your older brother when we woke him up and announced you were on your way, to your actual birth in the hospital. You had a beautiful birth and your daddy was by my side through out your arrival. He was proud, nervous, and caring as any new daddy is. I knew he was going to be a great father.

Of course, after your birth the most anticipated day was the day you and I would go home, but dear little one, you came down with a fever so they wouldn't let you go. I was sad and worried, but the first couple of days they let me stay with you. One of the hardest days of my life was the day I had to go home without you. The sight of your empty bed was heart wrenching. I cried myself to sleep. We would go through this several more nights before you were released. Exactly one week from the day of your birth you finally got to come home to your little bed. Our family was complete.

Now here you are three years later. You outgrew your little bed and have a big boy bed. When I think about your first week of life, I think of all the babies who didn't get to come home for weeks, months, or even at all. The babies that filled the NICU where you slept without me. The sorrow their parents felt. That's when I hold you a little tighter and feel blessed you are healthy and growing into a wonderful little boy who I can tuck into bed every night.

Jan. 15 - It's Saturday Afternoon. You're Not At Home

My favorite Saturday afternoons,
sunny spring days
downtown or at the river
over a cup of coffee
hot dogs on the grill
cruising down the road
to a million other places
I've went with you,
All the times
I've spent with you.
Daydreams,
nothing more than daydreams
fading like mist on the river
on Saturday afternoon.