Putting Down Roots

True love does not:
'save'
'rescue'
'change'
Nor is it 'co-dependent' or 'needy' or 'demanding'
True love is not 'drama'
It is happiness, joy, peace.
It is mutual respect, natural growth
Not stretching or pulling the other
But offering fertile soil
So each of you
Put down roots
Reach, and climb, and soar

Wasted Space

Just had a memory of my Dad on the day we buried him. Then I found this short piece. Made me laugh a little, because I had a similar thought:

Negative Space
by Ron Koertge

My dad taught me to pack: lay out everything. Put back half. Roll things
that roll. Wrinkle-prone things on top of cotton things. Then pants, waist-
to-hem. Nooks and crannies for socks. Belts around the sides like snakes.
Plastic over that. Add shoes. Wear heavy stuff on the plane.
We started when I was little. I'd roll up socks. Then he'd pretend to put me in the suitcase, and we'd laugh. Some guys bond with their dads shooting hoops or talking about Chevrolets. We did it over luggage.
By the time I was twelve, if he was busy, I'd pack for him. Mom tried
but didn't have the knack. He'd get somewhere, open his suitcase and text
me—"Perfect." That one word from him meant a lot.
The funeral was terrible—him laid out in that big carton and me crying
and thinking, Look at all that wasted space.

Morning Coffee

First storm of the season - life is getting back to normal :)

Burnt Edges

Did not intend to volunteer
Reached my arms for a stretch
Touched the sun instead of the sky
Blistered fingertips, singed eye lashes
Living in such beauty
Layered in soot
I'm burnt

Got my life
Pinch my body
Kept my soul
All those memories
The dirty little secrets
All burnt

This is kind of about you
And kind of about me
We both lost our way
Take life as it comes
Everything is burnt