#86

The dawn blossoms into morning, real morning even as the Autumn air retains her chill. Bark chips sliver into my toes, my soles, and my soul. I dig. I clip. I remove and replant. Growth gives way to compost, storing energy for the Winter ahead. Surrounded with life, and death. No sweat decorates my brow, it's far too cold. Still, I feel the responsibility to manage the Earth. Our appanage even before the Curse. O, but what is time for I am in the Garden.

#85

 What was it even for, George,

the war?

Why did my generation

and the generation of my students

lose their freedom and many

their lives?

How did four airplanes

change the flight path of every near adult

with a conflict that Congress

couldn't be bothered to discuss?

What do you say to the women,

prisoner again in a homeland

that bares the lasting marks

of ravage?

Why have we been ravaged?

#84

 Settling back into the warmed indent in the couch,

return to the dream

and rest again.

Sleep is always best in 

a safe place.

#83

 tender, damaged soul

you may weep and mourn

and wail, as you need.

You can be both

broken and restored

at once.

Time may heal,

or healing may change time entirely

and you can be

simultaneously

fine and not fine

in any and every moment.

#82

 Take your time.

Stand as tall as you can on tippy toes.

Reach each "puzzleberry" with care.

Little love, you're growing up.

I'm so grateful to be here.

#81

Donde estan mis milagros?

I trust the numbers, the transcription,

the Creator and still

...waiting on miracles. 

#80

 No one blames the flower

when it fades.

Rather, we enjoy the beauty

while it lives

a fleeting,

fragile

moment.

Nuzzle the fragrance

and marvel at the tiny, well-formed petals

counting them and checking again to be sure.

Dar la luz,

we dream. We pray.

All we get,

la luz se fue.