Prose

Good-bye A Short Scene 

It had been a whirlwind weekend to be sure. They hadn't even seen that much of each other; yet, there was the easy going chat in the kitchen, the moments by the fire, the knowing glance, the understanding smile and the connection that was theirs and theirs alone. It was now time to go. He had gathered his belongings in his arms, his shirts straight from the closet and still on the hangers, his laptop, duffel bag, winter coat and boots. Her heart began to sink and it was almost as though he felt it in the air because he stopped in his tracks and weighing both the time and complicated effort it would take to re-gather everything, he laid down his cumbersome burdens, walked over to her, drew her into his arms and held her tight. Her eyes misted and she fought to gain control over her thoughts and emotions as he fought to balance his belongings back into the arms that only seconds before were wrapped around her. Once again weighed down by his load, he turned to her once more, smiled, then turned the knob on the door, stepped through and was gone from her sight. An unbidden tear rolled helplessly down her cheek, she allowed it as her heart swelled with pride and overflowed with love.
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Heritage Album - The Beginning of a Story

Warm tears streamed down her face onto her lips and dropped one by one sprinkling the array of colored papers that lay in front of her. Her craving for something sweet, almost a distraction from the reality she had tried so hard to ignore. Life was too short, too fleeting, too overwhelmingly gone before it's supposed to be. The woman she thought she knew so well she now questioned if she truly knew at all and it was now too late to find answers to the questions that plagued her. How can that life and all it meant, be put into a book, pictures and mementos pasted down with stickers and glue we call art? What is there to urge her forward? Why keep doing this when the reason for it is gone and never to return? Is anyone listening? Does it matter if anyone is or not? She craved someone to talk to but didn't dare expose herself. Memories flooded her heart and the weight of them crushed her soul. The radio sang to her "Somewhere out there beneath the pale moonlight, someone's thinking of me and loving me tonight". Why keep going - because that woman she knew so well found joy in her art and wanted her to finish, to honor those that had gone before them and if for no other reason, she must push all the pain aside and press on. She moved the supplies around on her desk, the pretty colored papers, stickers and glue, the faded photographs of that smile that made the worst days worth surviving.  Grief is never ending. 

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My Friend, Pierre

You are mighty
You are strong
You are gentle
You are tall and steadfast
You always know what I need

When I am upset you soothe
When I am sad you sigh
When I am crying you pray
When I am happy you sing
When I am rejoicing you dance

You express that for which there are no words
I am so grateful to have you in my life