Sonnet 73…

 As the summer winds down. I head into my favorite season.

Crisp nights welcome good sleeping and mildly warm days take me outside to soak up some sunshine.

The cicadas have left. Their songs just an echo in my mind. The evening background sounds of crickets still rise and fall in a calming rhythm. But there are fewer in number every night.

The lightning bugs have been long gone. Their magical hovering in the shadows now dark.

The trees aren’t as green as they were only a week ago. Tips of the branches a little more yellow than they were yesterday.

I get excited with the coming Autumn. I always have. 

I’m not a pumpkin spice girl. I’m not a pumpkin anything girl. Pumpkin is gross, but I do love apples.

Maybe I love this season because there’s a whisper in the air of cinnamon and cloves. Warm and inviting.

It almost makes me giddy.

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang… Wm. Shakespeare 

Maelstrom…

I watch her as she spins.

Spins with her nasty hooks flailing about hoping to snag an unexpected bystander.

I’ve removed myself from her reach. No matter how hard she tries, I do not find myself caught in her angry snare.

I got caught once and that was enough for me. I snipped the cutting tendrils and never looked back.

The scars have healed, but her present day actions remind me she hasn’t changed, she has only gotten worse.

Hate.

She hates you. She hates me. She hates everyone - even herself.

I don’t hate her.

I feel bad for her. 

The hate eats away at any happiness she could have.

And that’s sad.

I could have been a great friend for her. 

I am not the only person who has left her to her own destruction. Everyone fled once her biting words and awful actions damaged them.

Her self fulfilling prophecy of not having any family when her parents died is slowly coming true.

“You’re not even family” yelled at me made me understand.

I’m not her family.

But I am his, and that’s all that matters to me.

Ps. A situation or state of confused movement or violent turmoil.

Stained Glass…

Pieces of my life had been shattered like panes of colored glass. Each facet of my life a different color lay at my feet, waiting for someone, anyone, to sweep it up.

As it happened to be, it was me left with the task of cleaning up most of the mess.

Not because it was my fault but because I’m a strong person. Creative and resourceful.

I put a template in place and started to rebuild.

Some things were easy to put in this new frame of my life. Big chunks snapped together quickly.

It was the tiny slivers that cut my fingers and fought me until I could pound them into place.

It took a long time to envision what my new masterpiece would look like.

A piece here and a piece there, slowly my vision was becoming a reality.

I soldered when I could when I knew this was what it was meant to be.

I know that you’re not supposed solder until the end of the project, but I had too many loose shards to deal with. 

The project is nearly complete. A few missing bits to fill in the holes will seal the deal.

So I stand here healing. Cut and bloody, I’m still holding your hand.

Ps… I see the sun sparkle and shine through the pieces. It’s my soul on display and it’s beautiful.