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| November 03, 1999 |
| Muddy water churning against the shore, the waves and the late autumn wind locked in a violent dance The clouds are low and grey, heavy with the season's first snow, flakes just beginning to furtively dart here and there "How appropriate" I think "...this frigid and dreary grey..." as I travel to tell you goodbye. |
| Her lover lives so far from her and normally this would be the perfect arrangement ... absense making the heart grow fonder... a tired cliche, but oh so true. Now though the distance seems a great dark void, or a long path strewn of blistering coals, and her feet are soft and bare. A silent phone sits upon the bed. She dares not call again, but must instead wait for its shrill ring to pierce the stillness of her evening. Neon flashes red and white outside the window and the hum and rattle of the air conditioner settles over the noises of the street below. Her book holds no interest for her, and she's not bothered to even turn on the tv. She goes to the window and, looking down, sees people bustling along to or from somewhere important, people laughing, people talking, people with their friends or their loved ones. Car lights and traffic lights and street lights and store lights and the whole world outside her window is filled with lights. She comes away, then settles in the chair in the corner with yet another coffee, probably one too many now, and drums her fingers upon her forehead. She reaches for the phone and begins to punch in the familiar number, but hangs up before finishing. "Shouldn't he feel the need to call me, " she thinks to herself "Can't he sense how I need to even just hear his voice." But the phone, sitting again upon the bed, still sits silently. And this silence, this absense, it does not make her heart grow fonder, but fills it instead with a great dark void, fills it instead with blistering coals, and she is soft and bare. |
| I'm not too good at saying what I want to say to you, what I need to say to you the word aren't there - they won't come though the tears do... I don't understand if it's you just don't understand me or I just don't understand you. Sometimes I wish I could just again lie enfolded in your arms and sometimes I wish you'd wish to lie enfolded in mine. I wish that though we've seen each other at our worst as well as our best that we could remain friends and that past hurts and angry words would not become walls between us, but rather opportunities for forgiveness. I wish that you would look into my eyes just once more and see what you mean to me. |
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| The weather outside has turned grey and misty mild drizzles of rain patter on the leaves of the apple tree and a red canoe bobs gently against the dock. A jazzy version of Gershwin's "Embraceable You" plays softly on the radio and I put my book down and my thoughts turn to you. Would that you were here and we could sit in companionable silence you with the sports pages and I with Tolstoy two mugs of cocao steaming on the table. Then as the grey day turned black and thunder rolled in across the lake we could make love. July 1999 |
| Three months, ninety more days the cold dark days of January time to weigh the good with the bad To make commitments and resolutions February, a time for introspection as another year of my life passes and is marked with trivial good wishes for love, laughter and happiness March, a month of thaw, as fresh hope blooms through ice & snow A time to watch the birds return from exotic locales A time to feel love soar on wings. January 1999 |
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| photo - nja |
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| page three |
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