We all go through tough situations, all of us. Sometimes though the wounds become just too much.
I’m there now. My wife is ok, although she’s still getting treatments. I won’t go into details, but I am in need of healing. I’ve always been open and honest, so there it is.
The poet needs healing.
It may be days, or weeks, I don’t know. I may share some previous work until then.
If you ever get a message saying this is a private site it just means the break will be extensive.
I have two sources I go to for internal healing: nature and love. Yes of course there is God and faith but for me that is the love part.
I’m convinced God doesn’t have an AR-15.
And there’s my wife. She’s my best friend in the whole world.
So thank you for understanding, maybe the internal healing will come much sooner than I know. One can hope.
He was there when the fog slowly lifted. And the doe, in her boldness walked by and looked at him from under the shade of the oak trees. She was unafraid yet watchful, knowing full well this was her home and he was intruding.
He normally came here to write, yet on this day he needed the mountains to quiet his heart. “Sit down”, the doe said, “Let the peace wash over you, only then should you start with your notebook.” She was bold but it needed to be said.
He did sit down. In fact, he did exactly as the doe said. It was at least an hour before he reached for his pad of paper.
The bluster and power of the late winter winds told him a different story now, unlike his younger days when meeting the winds head on, spoke of courage and the ability, to press forward meeting the challenge.
Now it just meant the brutal force of cold air, chilling his bones, so he zipped up his coat a little further, and held onto his hat, as another gust tried to knock him sideways.