We, humans, are so arrogant sometimes.  We are always changing things so we are comfortable.  When its hot outside, we turn on our air conditioning; when it's cold outside, we turn on our heater; when we have a head ache, we take painkillers.  We think we should always be comfortable and that we can do anything.  But when it comes to love, what is there to do? There is no air conditioning for love, no painkiller. Run from it? We try, but how can you run from your heart when it's inside you?  We try not to love the one we love.  We try to just be friends.  We run because we know if we are too close we wont be able to stay apart.  You can not deny love.  It's something you can't control, something that happens whether you think it's "the right time" or not.  Love does not wait for you to be ready.  Love is strong and powerful and fills you up with life; with out it we would die.

The Wind and Rain

Im snuggled on the couch with a blanket and a book. My hair has dried from the shower and hangs in soft, fresh-smelling curls past my sternum bone. The chapter ends, I tilt my head back and stretch my neck. I notice the light in the room has changed and look out the big window behind me. The sky is a mix of a thousand different grays and the clouds roll. The tops of the trees that line my backyard bow to the east like peasants to their king. I smile and my heart flutters in my chest; this is my favorite weather. I close my book, after taking note of which chapter im on, and throw the blanket off my legs. I run to the back door and open it. A gust of wind pummels into me and a laugh jumps from my throat. I step outside and shut the door with extra effort, then I run. I run to the middle of the yard and stand facing west, my arms stretched out to my sides. The wind whips my hair around and presses my soft-yellow sundress against my body. Im barefoot. I close my eyes and feel: The pressure of the air, tiny rain drops kissing my skin, the delicious smell of a storm, green grass under my feet, fabric against skin. I imagine what I cannot see: Baby birds huddling under their mother's protective wings, a ladybug clinging to a blade of grass to keep from getting blown away, the kittens in the barn snuggled into a mass of soft fur and moist noses, the center of the earth boiling, unaware of the storm on it's surface. The rain starts. Gentle at first, then heavy. It pours down on me like a shower, making the tips of my hair drip with water. I look straight up, my eyes closed and mouth open. The water tastes sweet. My wet dress clings to my body and the rain does not stop. Thunder cracks its whip in the gray ocean above me and my eyes pop open just in time to see the lightening bolt. It lights the entire sky for one fierce moment. Then is gone. The wind picks up and I rock on my heels. Goose bumps wave over my skin. I start back to the house. I run, bare feet on the soaked earth. Inside, it is silent. I go to the window, dripping rain water on the tile floor, and press my palms and forehead on the glass. I close my eyes and smile. What a beautiful day.

Summer Saturday

It's 1:30 in the morning and I cant seem to fall asleep.  So I will write.

Morning comes with a sense of new.  I wake to light shining through the blinds making my room feel happy.  I stretch under the sheets (it is too warm for a quilt) and lay sprawled out staring at the ceiling.  My eyes wander; mocha walls, pictures of Eden and I on my dresser, the small red couch in the corner, the desk where I do my homework is clean for once, my closet is open exposing my assortment of shoes, shirts, pants, dresses, skirts, scarfs etc., the hat wrack by the door.  I love my room.  I sit up and lean against the wall, sheets covering my bare legs.  I smile at the thought of today; its Saturday. I love Saturdays.  My stomach growls and I agree it is time for breakfast.  I pull on my pajama pants, put my hair in a french braid, and go upstairs.  Everyone is gone this morning so I have the house to myself.  I put some Jack Johnson on and make waffles for breakfast.  While they cook I chop strawberries and bananas and make whipped cream.  I dip a deformed strawberry in the white deliciousness and eat it.  So sweet and creamy.  The waffle iron dings and I pull out a golden brown waffle. I pile on a mountain of fruit and top it with a few dollops of whipped cream.  I pour a glass of milk and take it and my plate outside.  I sit in a cushioned chair on the deck and enjoy my breakfast.  There is a breeze that catches the stray hairs around my face.  Jack's voice carries through the open kitchen window.  The sun shines on me and I welcome its brightness.  It feels as if it is filling me up with joy and life and contentment.  I sit a long while after my plate and glass are empty, just soaking in the sunlight and the perfection of the morning.