our given parcel…

our given parcel…

one can never tell, for we all tend our own land in our own time, in our own way, a hodge-podge of native plants, mixed in with various varieties, maybe foreign by design, others we are informed to plant by the agrarian hierarchy, some thrive, for a time, some wilt, some sneak about like vines, others bear fruit, quite the menagerie when you have some age to till your acreage, a simple stroll reveals the years, the sparkling blossoms, the empty half rotten stumps, some only peak in seasons, to sleep for some time before a return for a short burst run, others are marathons, ever-green even against even the coldest sun, yes, these are the shades of my garden.
once I did walk these paths with another, some years ago, where we built our own little section together, certainly distinct, intertwined, more vibrant than just mine, but again, that was many years ago, a pathway I can not even find anymore, and the memories, well, they are all in pictures as the physical representation has disappeared into the earthen past, even to the point where I question if that was real anyway, who was that person, back then, not these same two feet I think, or would like to, so I tend to my own now, again, but I am changed like a river that meets a fork, or perhaps a dam, I would hope to be still flowing out over the open land – exploring, planting as I go, in my own way, perhaps to find another, to share, an eve, for if there is one might I find such a union again.
(stream of consciousness post)

notes: so what are your thoughts? can you picture the garden you have created? beauty, beast… and all ?

lost.love.letters.

lost.love.letters.

‘companion’
for you are, always with me, this fantasy, based on once reality, so far away now in years, still has the hold of yesterday and the warming dawn of tomorrow, but no, a phantom memory, even if I know what you would say, would you? anymore, am I the same person as we once were, together, I can not be sure, doubt is rot, but too honest to dismiss, love seems like an anchor but also a map to where… some would say where I have been, can the road past point to a future path? I don’t know, I only know the fleeting hope, what whispers in, to my ear, in dreams, waking apparitions, delusions, perhaps, if there is a difference in such things, subtle kisses of, being awake, or asleep, or alive, how can I compare to anything on the other side until such time, as, well, but for now (and seemingly always) you are my companion, the strength of that thought, that feeling, wanes and rises, yes, like a proverbial tide, sometimes mild, sometimes an overwhelming wave that pushes me under, to the darker thoughts of why, but always the gentle recede, back into that vast dichotomy, the sheer beauty of infinity, to the eye, when locked on an ocean horizon, knowing the depths conceal my centuries of wrecks in demise, and yet, also a womb, a treasure chest, a portal, perhaps salvation, the constant presence of the power of perpetual motion, back and forth, forward and back, for we are, as hearts beat, brain waves pulse with electronic sensations carried to the power lines of our extremities, and the abstract, love and revile, just as real as a stone in hand just not tangible with the same senses, we have been programmed to trust, I could clamp all those valves of input off, and still feel, feel you there, my companion, even though, I lost you so long ago, eyes closed, my arms remember, my hands recall, my heart does call, and sometimes I think you may hear me, somehow, for that was there, that bridge, that bond, that love, my companion, I will not perish as one.

this is/was a stream post, meaning I wrote it all in one gulp, one sitting, one flowing, just an idea let out of the barn, allowed to roam free until… well, until it ended of it’s own volition, or my pen, or keyboard or such… such is the way of this blog, am I totally free? maybe not, trying to get there though… to allow my expression to be a bronco, in a field, running, or not, just being…