and the wind came…

Nearly a whole moon ago
I lazed beneath a crystal blue
And above a glittering shimmering
One reflected in the other
As it came to be the same with me
Memory waltzed with thought
In a seamless dance of spirit
Three quarter time
In tune with the breeze
And with me
And three times again
A butterfly
Appeared to the right of me
A monarch surprise
Wherever he came from
I know not
Which doesn’t matter much anyway
It is only special
That he found me
At the heart of a special day
And three times again
I was mesmerized 
So out of place he was
Suspended between blue and blue
With no field and no flowers
Anywhere in sight
Leading me gently to ask why
And twice
And three times again
As the wheel of life does turn 
Upon itself
So did he
To me
His wings sang of sunset
A feast of a thousand peaches
Ripened in an evening sky
He did not float in still air
Nor, did he fly strong and purposely
He was a winged mystery 
In the face of the invisible 
Not fighting against the unseen
Instead, he let himself just be
And the wind came
And carried him 
To all the places 
He could never have imagined 
For himself.
Then, ever so gracefully,
And three times again
He fluttered near
And carried me there too…

ellie894 November 4, 2019
there was a butterfly that day, a stunning peachy tangerine one. Out of place. Three times he came to me from nowhere, over the water, under the sky and out of the breeze.

can a sweater be like a tango…

I want to begin with a where,
And a why,
And a sort of a how.
I want to tell you that the light is soft,
Whether it is the flicker of a candle or the glow of a lamp.
I want to tell you of the music,
As a piano dances, a violin takes to the sky and lyrics sink into the depths of me.

I want to tell you of my sweater,
The long gray one that falls to the backs of my calves, 
that sways with my every move, 
much like a tango, 
only with a more subtle flair.
Can a sweater even be like a tango…  
I wrote that over and again last night,
And deleted it each time.  
Yet, here I am writing it once more. 
Perhaps it wants to be written, and wants to be told. 
There are other thoughts too, 
Moments of nothing but cloudy mist,
Afternoons weary from searching 
The edges of dawn blushing at the very thought of what may be,

And, the way I love coffee with cream
In a small cup 
First thing.
And later in the day, tea
Also in a small cup
Sweetened with a touch of cane sugar
And stirred rhythmically 
With my favorite spoon.
Do you know why I love a small cup?
Because, I sip more than I drink,
I savor more than I gulp.
I like my brew hot…
Too big of a cup, and it goes…
It’s not meant to be cold,
It’s meant to be…
…and steamy and bold.
So that the cup may warm my hands,
As the brew warms my soul…
That’s the way it’s meant to be,
As the sun upon my face
As the love within my heart,
My hands hold gently
My lips kiss the edges
And I am embraced by the heat
So very completely…
That’s the way it’s meant to be

ellie894 November 14, 2019