Blue Cottage on Christmas Tree Hill

She was born in 1920
Stately
Graceful
Pristine

60 stone steps
take me to her door

Wild turkeys strut through the trees
and fly up to the roof like drunken stones

The little red fox appears
and keeps and eye on me
before he disappears into the night

The hawk does a fly-by
to make sure all is well
As the deer munch on grasses
peering at me out of the corner of a doe eye

Miles keeps me company
and heals me with his kneading paws on my knotted stomach
This cat knows his stuff

I am alone
while surrounded
by sacred animals

Storage

The key fits into the silver metal lock like a perfect lover

Click

The yellow door swings wide on its metal hinges
The smell snakes and swirls up
into my nostils
Like the pink smoke from I Dream Of Jeannie's lamp

The smell of 30 years
of collected stuff
Thousands of photos
Turkish tea pot
Thai elephants
Indian saris
Italian plates
Tax returns
Marriage licenses
Birth certificates
Piles of costume jewelry
My favorite sauce pan
Millions of words
on the pages of notebooks

My life
behind the doors
of locker number 926

Writing From The Soul - Rescued From The Trash

10 minute writing exercise.....

Rescued from the trash….the first one is always a little hard to get started. Like the engine of my car on these cold winter mornings in Utah. Warming up the fingers…

Rescued from the trash..hidden under the boxes and glad bags and apple peels. What is hidden there? Hiding beneath the other garbage so that no one sees. It doesn’t want to be seen but yet wants to be rescued without saying a word. Hiding but wanting to be seen and rescued.

She is small and quiet and cold and hiding. She doesn’t know if she wants to be found. But she does. She wants to be rescued from the trash, and not be a piece of the trash and more.

Unveiled and unhidden and known and seen. In all her glory. She is love. She is a goddess and she is ready to rise from the trash like a phoenix from the ash trash. Let her out. Let her be seen. Let her be all that she is already. Just peel away the trash from around her and she pops out like a stripper from a birthday cake. Ta daaaa….. Sequins and fishnets and heels shining as she steps gracefully down from the mounds of sweet icing. She is sweet and grace and love and she is here ready to be seen. Ready for her debut!

Rescued from the trash are my writings that almost didn’t make it. Hidden in the verses is my soul. The words just seem to be words until I read them out loud and then I know. It connects me to my soul. The words from when I was 13. Such a strange time in ones life. All hormones raging pimples popping boys looking boobs sprouting. What the hell is going on? The song on the radio says it all. Chicago – If You Leave Me Now….

I knew it was important to write when I was 13 and now I’m glad I have the words to look back on. It’s a path, a story, of feelings, songs, paved with tears and lessons and loves along the way. Travels too. Around the world and back again. New languages, new food, new souls. It makes me whole. I’m getting antsy to hit the road again. It’s been 1.5 months in one place and I’m ready to go again. Feeling boxed in inside the room with the forced air heat to ward off the winter chill of the mountain air.

Gotta get someplace warm. Gotta be by the ocean again. Smell the salt air and feel the open minds of people in California. The mountains are good but not so much when I can’t get out in them in the brittle cold. I’m a warm weather gal. The cold chills my bones and makes them stiff as they wrap around my insides and heart. I need to thaw out. Get out in the mountains of Cali.