Softly, Softly

I want a vacation where I roll out of bed before the morning soft gets burned away, just because it feels nice to sit and watch the sun play outside my window. Footsteps down the hall and a hand that brushes across my shoulder remind me that I'm the right kind of alone--safe and solitary, without obligation to the whims and whiles of a hundred someone elses. Not today. The room is cinnamon and mint and cheerfully greets the holiday season, and for once I'm not grouchy or hungover from the spirits of Christmas. Instead, I think and I write what I think and my mind unlocks the depths of my soul. I go there. And it's a good place to go. I'm with the me that I love and she is so beautiful and so pure. I'm the potential that God sees. In being, I change the entire course of history.

Lately I've been feeling down because I had finally reached the top in record speed only to find that it wasn't quite as high as I wanted, and now there's no where else to go. I'm too restless to spend 60 more years like this--where the peak suffocates like underground and everything goes dim and fuzzy and the cold is the bad kind of cold.

It's time to fly away on a new song
To dance the steps that will carry me off
To dream a lost dream.
It's time to melt the tears that hardened around my heart
To let them cry out of my eyes again
To warm a better warm.
It's time to embrace a softer season.

I saw a baby and his hands were so small--hands that reached for the me that I lost. I smiled at his smile, and I heard her heart start to beat again. Now the Lost Me controls the radio in my car, listening to the sappy songs because she actually knows what they mean. New feelings course through my veins as the Lost Me takes the steering wheel too. My heart starts to ache with that new something that I'm afraid to put a name to...that thing I won't call love until the years make it safe to look back on. It's miserably optimistic, I know, but it's also very, very good.

He's getting in and I'm going soft. But it's the good kind of soft. A breeze blows and it's pine.