Terrapin Station...

The song goes 'round and 'round in my head and I just can't shake the melody. It must mean that I should put on my tie-dye and chill for a few days. Summer is on my doorstep and I welcome it with open arms.



Let my inspiration flow in token rhyme, suggesting rhythm,
That will not forsake you, till my tale is told and done.
While the firelight's aglow, strange shadows from the flames will grow,
Till things we've never seen will seem familiar.

Shadows of a sailor, forming winds both foul and fair all swarm.
Down in Carlisle, he loved a lady many years ago.
Here beside him stands a man, a soldier from the looks of him,
Who came through many fights, but lost at love.

While the story teller speaks, a door within the fire creaks;
Suddenly flies open, and a girl is standing there.
Eyes alight, with glowing hair, all that fancy paints as fair,
She takes her fan and throws it, in the lion's den.

Which of you to gain me, tell, will risk uncertain pains of hell?
I will not forgive you if you will not take the chance.
The sailor gave at least a try, the soldier being much too wise,
Strategy was his strength, and not disaster.

The sailor, coming out again, the lady fairly leapt at him.
That's how it stands today. You decide if he was wise.
The story teller makes no choice. Soon you will not hear his voice.
His job is to shed light, and not to master.

Since the end is never told, we pay the teller off in gold,
In hopes he will come back, but he cannot be bought or sold.

Terrapin Station

Inspiration, move me brightly. Light the song with sense and color;
Hold away despair, more than this I will not ask.
Face of mysteries dark and vast, statements just seem vain at last.
Some rise, some fall, some climb, to get to Terrapin.

Counting stars by candlelight, all are dim but one is bright;
The spiral light of Venus, rising first and shining best,
On, from the northwest corner, of a brand new crescent moon,
While crickets and cicadas sing a rare and different tune,
Terrapin Station.

In the shadow of the moon, Terrapin Station.
And I know we'll get there soon, Terrapin Station.
I can't figure out, Terrapin, if it's the end or beginning, Terrapin,
But the train's put its brakes on, Terrapin,
And the whistle is screaming, TERRAPIN.

Terrapin Station - At the Siding

While you were gone, these faces filled with darkness.
The obvious was hidden. With nothing to believe in,
The compass always points to Terrapin.

Sullen wings of fortune beat like rain.
You're back in Terrapin for good or ill again, for good or ill again.

May...

I find it hard to explain. It's just one of those "if you've never experienced it - you really don't understand" categories.

As I stand on my back porch, I am moved to silence and wonder.

Spring has arrived. A warm breeze swirls lightly enough to move my hair. My new container garden is at its glory.

Pinks, blues, yellows, and purples are scattered on the deck. Now the trees have exploded into varying shades of green. I don't think they had leaves on Tuesday.

Butterflies and bees float from flower to flower.

My lawn is lush again with grass and dandelions. Chirps and songs from different birds fill the air.

Spring has sprung and I don't hate it.

This season is truly beautiful.

One with nature...

'Tis the season for dragonflies. They fly in formation over me as they prepare to take over the backyard. I prefer them to spiders. I prefer nearly anything to spiders.

As I sit quiety, a fierce looking dragonfly lands on my big toe. I try to remain calm and not jerk my foot away.

The insect holds onto me with its four legs. Its wings have stopped moving. I think it's looking at me through its large octagonal looking eyes. I wonder what I look like through those bizarre eyes?

The dragonfly gently lets go of me and takes off quickly. Its wings move faster than my eyes can fathom and all I can see is a blur.

I wait for this creature to visit me once more. If it lands on me again, I'll hold my breath so as I don't scare it away.

Where's my damn camera when I really need it?

Voices carry...

Rumor has it I’m a bitch.

It makes me laugh because I know who perpetuates the story. I call her on the rumors and she immediately backs down and claims to know nothing about it. I know it’s true because I’ve heard her whisper.

I don’t care about what she says, but I like to see her sweat when I press the question.

Why am I a bitch?
 Because I stick up for myself and those I care about?
 I call you on your bullshit?
 I don’t have time for your games so I cut to the chase?
 I walk away when I’ve had enough and I don’t play any more?
 I laugh when you call me names?
 If you talk behind my back, I’ll call you on it just to see you squirm?
 If you’re a big enough pain in the ass for me, I’ll give you enough rope so you hang yourself?

If that makes one, so be it.

Just remember, I may be a bitch, but I'm not your bitch.

Up the Spout

She made her announcement to the “hens” of the floor. We were the last she told.

I don’t mind. None of us did.

We’ve been waiting for those words for nearly a year. It wasn’t a question of “if” but “when.”

She said she was surprised but I find that hard to believe.

If you pull the goalie, you will most likely score at some point.

Now she will get the marriage she’s been pushing for. Now he will love her and stop using her as a punching bag. Now he will grow up and act like an adult. Now she will get her own child who will love her unconditionally. Now she will fix everything in her world by having a baby.

It doesn’t seem to matter to her that she’s not even a legal age to drink alcohol. Or that he’s more interested in playing X-Box than house.

She’s gotten exactly what she’s wanted and he’s now strapped to her forever and ever.

Congratulations kids.

You showed us “old folks” how grown-up you are by making a baby.

Just because you can doesn’t mean you should.

Can't touch this...

Why do people get the urge to touch me?

What prompts a person to just invade my space for a hug – a squeeze – a rub without asking if I need any of that?

They all laugh when I tell them I’m not a touchy-feely person and I have a wide personal space they need to stay out of. Do I look like a snuggle bug?

It’s that time of the year again when my co-workers seem to think I need to hug it out. I am treated like a jungle Jenny. Hands grab at me and my head is patted.

You know what?

I’m not an f***ing dog.

I’m more like a porcupine with obscenity laden quills.

Get the hell off of me before I hurt you.