personal writings no.3

Dedicated to Their Future

I want to light a match on the habitual;
I want to watch it shrivel up like a salted slug,
and replace it with purpose,
so that when my grandchildren
ask their mother for stories of Grandma,
my daughter can wrinkle the corners of her eyes in
gratitude and happiness,
remembering a life
lived
with
intention. 

wishes for a happy August

A toast to savoring the fleeting days of summer, all while secretly beginning to anticipate the first days of fall: 
Here's to campfires and fireflies and here's to the ocean spilling over your sandy toes.  
Here's to warm rainstorms and cold beers and here's to ice cream cones underneath the streetlights.
Here's to finding satisfaction in the present, and not fearing that things will change (because they always do and it is always OK). 
Here's to accepting that you'll have another beautiful August to look back on, and here's to making that August beautiful while it lasts. 

rooftop

I sit on the roof with my brother Jordan, and my cousins, Justin and Jeremiah.  Jeremiah is wearing his new yellow sneakers, and dangling from my ears are the elephant earrings I bought at the Melrose Trading Post earlier that day.  I have that warm contented feeling that comes from spending time with people you have known your entire existence, and I take the last sip of my beer as the California sun lazily disappears.

back from LA

I was in Los Angeles for a few days to visit my brother and sister-in-law.  We ate too much food, and then talked about eating more food until it was time to eat more food.  They complained about the heat wave and I laughed at them and reveled in the near-perfect weather.  My brother and I spent the mornings watching music documentaries, and the afternoons driving around the city listening to Black Sabbath.  I ate the best burrito I have ever had.

the storm

It is the end of a really long, hard week, and the rain finally comes; first on tiptoe and then stronger and faster until my hair sticks together and pours rivers down my cheeks.  I kick up puddles with my flip-flops; spatter-painting my calves in mud and eventually ducking for cover underneath the theatre marquee to watch my pent-up feelings slowly drain away.