Suspended Dust Particles

Particles float in the air,
Land momentarily, only to be swept up again.
They don’t like to settle too long,
For then they are only dust, something in need of cleaning.

When airborne, they catch the sunlight,
Its magnificent beams shining through them
Make any room dreamy and reminiscent.
They casually drift from here to there, making conversation with the room
Schmoozing with the furniture and curtains
Quietly worshipping the sun, a translucent rainbow
Illuminating this warm beaming light that makes this house feel like home
Something to warm up to, that will warm you up,
And keep you warm for always, in its tender embrace.

I will always be waiting here for you, these specks of dust will never settle.
They will float on and catch the sunlight, always dreamily, never quite awake.
They are the suspended particles of my childhood, in the barn of my dreams
They return to me here now, in another land, still the same.

There is never any need to rush, no need to quickly fall to the ground.
It’s far more satisfying to simply float, barely moving, but swaying back and forth
While travelling, eventually, through the air. No destination is needed. Steady as always,
Lingering and drifting from here to there, tenderly loving the air they travel through.
Not wanting to rush through it, but savouring each and every inch.

Shining through the curtains on this bright new day,
Lost sentiment quietly slips back into the room,
I am simply happy for who I am and where I am now.
Not proud nor ashamed, just content and at peace.

Relatives of the past smile through the light,
I will always be here, you have always been here.
This place is our home, but it’s more of a feeling than a place.
It actually hasn’t been with me for long, but the same light beams through this window as the last,
And particles still dance in the sun, remembering everything, for all days to come.
There is no forgetting, no carelessness. To move this slowly means to remember everything,
To be considerate and thoughtful, to appreciate all that is here.

I will never forget the quiet warmth. To forget is to die, to lose all feeling.
To be able to feel so much from so little, is to be able to live.
To live with my thoughts is the best gift I have, though difficult as it is at times.
Just look to the beams of sunlight, they still look the same as they always have,
They haven’t lost their magic or their warmth.
My body loses its coldness, loosens its grip, remembers life.
Simplicity is the key to all experience, disembodiment reversed, body and mind reunited.

Soft sentimental smiles linger, no tears ever come,
but quiet thoughts replace themselves with content stillness.
I feel like I’m eight years old again, I feel like I could be eighty.
I guess I always have been, still am.
Haven’t grown up in any significant way, my mind hasn’t lost itself but has remained intact
in an expanding childhood of discovery.
I will always stay the same, as long as the sun stays with me.

50 Mile Road

After miles of travelling on the road, we settle down at an old diner.
Time to rest, finally. I suppose we could go further, but hunger is settling in.
Limbs aching from stillness, such stillness is only unnatural.
Seems we are in another world, but it’s not that different,
Not in any immense or measurable way, it’s just these small details.
All these beautiful little details, that frame this place in my mind.

I don’t have a clue where we are, ponder for a second
Trying to decide whether I want to know or not.
Seems I would have more appreciation for this place if I did,
But if it remains a mystery in my mind,
It is special for its essence, not what is actually is.
Real memory is formed by essence, feeling,
Not anything to be described in real words.

A waitress smiles, clean crisp blouse and apron neatly ironed
I wonder if she spent her whole life in this small town.
What a tiny place to grow up, if this is all you know
What would the world feel like to you?
She is as warm as the sweet summer air,
Manners impeccable, not because they should be
But because that’s just who she is.

Old and weathered, the wooden panelled walls have seen their time
Rusted signs and license plates, oxidized as a form of decay
Their life is over, but they’re still kept on display.
Yellowing newspaper, of times gone by
Mostly everyone would have forgotten,
But we’re still holding on, still see the importance in this.

Wheat fields blow under an endless blue sky,
Caressed lovingly by their playful neighbour, the wind.
Although they are rooted into the soil, always stuck in place,
They look content and free, no need to be anywhere else but here.

Faerie Mischief

I found some fairies playing in my backyard this evening

Some things always stay the same

This place feels the same
As so many times before.
Only time has gone by,
And I haven’t been around for awhile.
The thick, mossy feel of the carpet
Surely deemed out of style,
But I love that you haven’t changed it.

Another place, a different time
It still feels the same too
The same bar of soap
The same container of liquid soap
Obviously not the same in all these years,
But you keep buying the same kind.
What is it about this orange liquid that keeps you coming back?
Do you always make that choice each time for a reason
Or simply out of habit?
The pale bar of soap
Has the same texture in my hands
Slightly gritty, it barely lathers
It’s dry when I pick it up,
I wonder if I should actually be using it for this?
Maybe it’s saved for washing your face.
I remember thinking this way before,
So long ago,
Something so mundane and unimportant
But I somehow find it comforting.

You point out the cabinets to me,
In the wall above the shower
I’ve never noticed them before!
They look so old and characterized
A small detail that I would surely love.
Later sitting on the toilet,
I notice how far up you have to look to see them,
So it makes sense that I never did.
Maybe from now on,
When using the toilet at someone’s house
We should move our head at all angles,
Or a different angle every time,
If you’ll be going there often.
You never know what you’ll notice!

Searching for Today

Trying to find something that is new,
I shift through crumbling rubble.
Wood creaks and cracks and moans,
I continue to search with much trouble.

Everything is old and comforting,
But I know it isn't safe.
It could fall apart at any moment,
But it might be my saving grace.

An old man wanders slowly by,
And pauses for a minute.
"Are you looking for something you lost" he asks
I could help you if you need it.

I stop and smile and think for a second
No, I reply, there isn't anything lost
But something that is waiting to be found
I can feel it now, it must be near.

Amidst this pile
Of rubble and rust
I have found what I was looking for
It isn't the past, nor is it the future
Its the present, loud and clear.