to a new season

. . .  there are so many things i can say, so many things that i want to write.   and reading this may be a little confusing  at first.  but as you re-read it a couple of times, it may make more sense.  there are a couple of ideas i wanted to dive into,  but instead i just let a flow of my thoughts be what it was,  sentence by sentence,  as i wrote them down.   but as i sit at my desk shuffling the sentences and words,  editing, wishing that i had my spell checker,   the early morning  hours that passed by,  greeted the heavy tiredness as it slowly shut my eyelids.  i quickly open them as the aroma of coffee drifts past me.  and there,  in a cup i pour and the steam quickly disappears into the air.   looking up around in my office,   the sunshine shone through the drawn curtain,   dimly illuminating the room,  giving it  a golden glow.   and there i am,  sitting and staring  at a blank page,  doodles on the page were supposed to be the words i wanted to write.  but this writer’s block presented to be something greater,  she is a wonderful distraction.   but that was a while back,  and my mind swims through this persuasion of  numbness,   slowly  drowning in the sea of emptiness.  seeking and searching to fill a void that is as deep as a canyon.   an early morning haze,  driving through this early morning traffic maze.  stop and go and the silence fills the air;   thinking i should have stayed in my dream like daze.   endless thoughts and emotions cover my mind like a thick fog rolling into a cityscape;    she seeped through the cracks of voidance,  everything i kept to myself,  the book that was my life,  tightly shut and put away,  she found it,  and read me well,  she was the only one who knew who i was.   i wasn’t supposed to let that happen,  and now i’m left with the never-ending question of what happened and why.   //   and now, a new season is before me.   just a passing memory comes and go,  like an ember refusing to die.    concrete pillars cast shadows down in between the beams of sunlight radiating the mid afternoon’s heat.   a new season.  standing before me was a challenge –  staring me straight in my eyes.   and i’m looking it down,  ready to take it on.   and as i leave work, i remember that i am no longer in that city,  but i’m in this city.   a new environment,  new surroundings.  i’m blinded,  but by familiar surroundings.   my walk home from work,   the memories that followed me here,  plays peek a boo with my head.    i must move on.  she holds the colour in my world,  but  i must push forward.  this new season that is before me,  the fall leafs are falling through the winter,  and straight into spring,   new leafs.  the sunshine shone through the drawn curtain,   dimly illuminating the room,  giving it  a golden glow.   and there i am,  sitting and staring  at a blank page,  doodles on the page were supposed to be the words i wanted to write.   but this writer’s block presented to be something greater,  she is a wonderful distraction.  a new season,  blindly looking across the way,  what will i find?   will the paths cross again,  lost at sea.  and the doodles on the page were supposed to be the words i wanted to write.   but this writer’s block presented to be something greater.  . . .

c 2013 BGW

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a framed paradise

. . . . she is my paradise.   comfortably sitting still in each others presence under the weeping of the willows,  there we are.  she talks to me in conversation,  i get lost in her beauty.   the late june afternoon  found itself to be a little warm.    the clouds lazily pass by,   peek a boo,  and there’s the sunshine.   the water slowly rushes by in the creek,  flowing at our side.    the mockingbirds toss around a song that plays as a soundtrack for the days afternoon.   i gaze deeply into her eyes,   the radiant beauty that pours out  from within her,  she amazes me.  the green, lush grass,  cool and soft surrounds us as we sit,  and the ant crawls in between the blades.   i reach for her hand,   hold it gently,  and her smile sneaks in,  making me smile in return.   the open fields of wildflowers welcomes  the passing  butterfly,  and a bee flys off  the orange daylily.  gently,  the leaves on  the tree branches dance in the passing by breeze.   the late afternoon sun glows a soft orange off her skin,  and on her face.   the shade of  a  willow branch dances back and forth,   blocking  the sun from her eyes.    the kiss appears,   as the sun slowly disappears.   quickly i gather some extra kindling and start the evenings campfire.   and now the suns glow is replaced by the moon glow,  fire glow.   the starry night blankets the canvas,  and our conversations are interrupted by our  hands and our kisses.   the tall grass under that willow,  cool and soft,  surrounds where we are.   and the stars look  upon us,   never saying a word.   she is a masterpiece,   and if i told her that,   she’d blush and wouldn’t believe me.   afterglow by the fire,  i read her some of my poetry.  after a while,  we took our lantern and walked the worn out path  that ran beside the stream.  our conversation turned to comfortable silence.  i  gently turn you around and take you in my arms,  holding you close in my arms,  there we are.   we stand in the middle of this field,  the moon shinning  down,  and the locus’ sing .   there,  in each others arms,  her face pressed on my shoulder,  she tells me that she needs me.   and between the darkness of the night and the glow of the lantern,  i look into her eyes as  if that could possibly say it all,  and i deeply kiss her.   we turn and head back to the tent and campfire.  on the way back,   the feelings came out,  and the wall she built to protect,  somehow was crumbling.   zipping up the tent behind me,  we head to bed,  but not a moment before the expressions of our feelings were shared.   the passion that  is deep and true is brighter than all the stars put together;  and she’s a masterpiece.   painted into the starry  night sky or in the mid days sun,  everything about her completes the painting  and compliments everything around her.   pale colours turn bright and vibrant.  work of art wrapped in a frame of  perfection.  but,  if i told her that she’s a masterpiece,  she’d just blush,  and the brush will just,  continue to paint. . . . .

c. 2013  BGW