An Eighth Shot of Espresso: Coffee and Creativity on Mum's Third Shift

 In times of trouble at least I have this: the need to write to express whatever lies in my heart the will to create and carve a little bit of sunshine within the dark clouds. the softness of heart to realize that these days will not last forever and after the rain the sun will shine again.

Jokes can be funny if it is shared by all involved if it is cute and witty and all in good fun. Nowadays there is little to laugh about with the world going to hell and people being cruel and mean spirited. A good knee-slapper can uplift the spirit strengthen bonds between us a shared story to remember We need to laugh again find the humor in life take it one day at a time one chuckle at a time

Can't say no cannot refuse they've been so nice to me everyone says how lucky I am to have them in my life. I smile and nod outwardly agree but inside I am screaming my voice is stifled every idea every want taken and given dominated by what they think is best I have more than most Little struggle, much harmony that's what it looks from the outside but behind closed doors my body is a marionette and they pull the strings my mind is encased programmed to do their will.

The Muse perched on my shoulder She gave me a gentle nudge: "Take a break you are very tired life has been hectic Take this time to refresh and refocus You cannot write when the well has run dry." In some ways, she is right as much as I try the words would not come. "Do not force it it will come out wrong stilted and flavorless this is not you. These are not your words this is not your melody." I've ignored her advice before much to my detriment. Exhaustion caught up and smothered my voice. So now I will listen and curl up and hibernate interpret my blissful dreams and new ideas on paper.

Return triumphant he wears an apron that says "Kiss the Cook" meat seasoned to perfection sun shines brightly outside he whistles on the patio keeps a watchful eye on the charcoal and the hot flames below He's not the only one the neighbors come out of hibernation it's one huge party of who can master the subtle art of cooking with fire.

This balance is delicate Too much of one thing and the scales are tipped. This will make you better but there is a very slight change very very very slight that something else will go wrong. It is a challenge to manipulate the weights so you will not be crushed on one end or the other. What is one more spinning plate when there are fifty or more and you rush around trying to keep none of them from falling. The effort tires you and all compliment your skill but leave you to do it all alone.

A wounded animal is skittish around a gentle hand extended in friendship. They know better than to fall for that trick again. Experience is a bitter draft and pain is a harsh teacher. It takes a long time and much patience to coax a smile or a loving nod from one who is used to being betrayed then ignored.

Deep dive into facts Share them with anyone who is around to listen. They marvel at how smart you are. They wonder if you have any friends. See all angles of a problem talk about this solution or that solution They see how tactical you are. They wonder if you think of anything else. "Do I talk too much? Am I too much? I shouldn't overshare." They tell you you're fine. They wonder if you'll ever catch a clue.

Throw paint on the walls and see what sticks improvise a rhythm a snippet catches your ear. Arrange random shapes a subject takes form From nothing comes art an idea just lingers until you reach out and hold it closely. It has no name until you give it one. It takes a life on its own perhaps it evolves in a way unexpected: do you let it breathe twist and turn its own way or do you halt its progress?

Sorry isn't sorry when it's apologizing for your own inconvenience: "I'm sorry it's been a waste of time (for me and not for you)." Remorse isn't remorse when it's not your soul that has been ripped apart: "I'm sorry for what I did (because I got caught)." Sadness isn't sadness when it's just crocodile tears and it's for show: "I'm sorry for your loss (though I think it's good riddance)."

We fell out of teatime No more quiet afternoon of drinks and snacks As the seasons turned and the shadows grew long and the leaves went from brown to green again. No more plastic kettles and little teacups on saucers and the parrot puppet asking for more lumps of sugar or the penguin stealing chocolate chips from the yellow beaked toucan. Hot tea is so posh Iced tea from Daddy's pitcher in a summer's day biscuits and gravy instead of biscuits and sandwiches childhood put away Mum's teacup stands alone.

Soft baked cookies smell fills the kitchen peanut butter and coconut gingerbread and lemon chocolate chip cakes and croissants gumdrops and brittle bowls pile up in the sink a tang of burnt edges powdered sugar like ground up snowflakes drifting on currents from the air conditioner and catch grains on the tongue. Gift boxes filled bundles set to go can't wait to see all the smiles and the joy the warmth and the rumble of tummies waiting to be filled with sweets from the sweet.

This can be better Analyze from start to finish Examine every detail with a fine tooth comb Rip it apart to the foundations out of a sense of love because you care. It does not reflect what you feel is the best for its survival. This part is good but, but, but it still has flaws it's not perfect for your own aesthetics If they had done this the way I would do it it would be perfect. Tell everyone what you'd do if you would do in the creator's place. Find those who agree with you Spread your ideas why this idea isn't perfect Nothing stands up to the test of time. Why do people like this in the first place when it is so wrong? The sense of love and the sense of care has turned into a sense of hate.

Look into the mirror Do the rituals speak the incantations See who stares back. Some transformations are only skin deep hair color, eye color face putty, padding in cheeks. Others stretch deeper permeate the soul become a different character leave the normal behind. How long can you keep it up? This charade, this facade Just for a night on the stage or for a stretch of eternity?

Tranquility Peace all around you sound of running water breeze stirring leaves thunder of heaven's doors soul is at rest no stormy seas ahead all is right with the world Patience watch as the nightbloom unfolds slowly ever so slowly the baby takes her first steps unsteady but soon with purpose a musician builds a repertoire from constant practice. Nothing is perfect from the start. Clarity All in sharp focus plan broken down in stages First one then two then three the path before you unhindered proceeding with confidence with no distractions towards your ultimate goal.

Trending downwards down to rock bottom the bar is set so low look above the light has disappeared a murky darkness surrounds and permeates the skies and ground The pits of despair so described throughout the ages never thought it would appear here for real no sound, not even the howl of wind from an evil demon overlord. It would be easy to just withdraw and watch the world burn in a wave of apathy and a blanket of hopelessness. But that would be handing all of existence on a silver platter. If not for yourself then for the ones who come after. The souls not yet born the songs not yet sung For a single sliver of dawn can lift up their hopes for tomorrow.

Flowery speech can't quite capture the feeling of a mundane life. You can only write so much about the cherry blossoms that drift on the breeze. Or the dust that needs to be swept from the kitchen floor every day. Or the laundry that must be picked up from the floor and thrown in the washer. The beauty in the ordinary can be hard to find if your thoughts are on the next task and the next. Then you try to wax poetic about the good things and the bad things of the world and words fail to come.

Every letter typed every word written a bit of emotion packed into each one. Straight from the heart the mind struggles to make ideas coherent complicated made simple. Some understand others shrug and move on but the lines impact a reader one way or another. If opinion say to agree even if your soul says no will your words reflect the truth that you feel?

The gleaming tower still needs a foundation that extends into the ground. That solid base supports what stretches up to the sky. What you see is white marble what you don't see is concrete strong and sure capable of holding up the weight of the wealth above. But what is it that you don't see? Hidden beneath your eyes and not fit for the public? Is it as sturdy as it needs to be? When was the last time anyone bothered to check it? For a structure is only as strong as its weakest link.

They have seen much The color of waves on a stormy sea now more white-cap foam than sixty years ago. Memories dance bright like the lights at the foot of a stage eventually go dim as the curtains close. What is now isn't what it used to be isn't what she remembers how much things have changed she doesn't recognize it. Hues once vivid have gone to grey shattered and cracked like pieces of a puzzle that no longer fit. Her story forgotten unless a kind soul wishes to help her recall the lessons of a lifetime to bring to the light.

Is that green blob a tree, a mountain a patch of grass? Narrow your eyes and use your imagination. A drop of azure water a hint of cerulean sky and mirror of ice what can this be? Anything you want it. Yellow and orange a roaring campfire or the last bit of sunset perhaps a bowl of fruit what should it be? A bit of uncertainty is unsettling for sure. Nothing is explained nothing is crystal clear you interpret for yourself.

I remember when this book this song this film first came out. How can it be thirty years already? Time passes so slowly when you are young and you are impatient for it to hurry up so you can do all the things that the adults do without any restrictions. Then you get there school, job, family the seasons turn one by one summer to winter then summer again too busy to notice. One day you realize you aren't young anymore and you remember when your parents and elders were your age now how can that be what happened to your life?

Clickity clack the dice hit the table fate chooses whether or not you succeed or if you live or die Do you think that the Gods sit high above and play tabletop role playing games move all their miniatures on a cosmic graph board? Who among them is the Game Master? Or does it change on a whim? One day it's Fate and the next day it's Whimsy? Look at your stat sheet and make sure you level up and pick up better gear as you go from quest to quest in the Game of Life.

 I. Can you imagine rainbows at your fingertips cool rain on your skin no ash falling on your brow no blood dripping from your hands? II. Dawn shows its promise golden light streams from the East Birds sing their praises and their hope begins anew maybe today things will change. III. They are supplicants pray that all will turn out well while their fellow man revels in extravagance they wonder why words don't work. IV. Afternoon wanes low and dusk begins to approach sun sets like always bloody red on horizon shadows loom between the trees V. You sigh and then smile as the birds all fall silent everything the same yet you still cling to the hope that the dawn comes again.

Fire, Wood, Water Metal and Earth Wu Xing, Five Elements Each one affects the other For good or for ill. Too much of one upsets the balance and all must be in harmony. Process and change nothing ever stays the same it is the essence of the elements a stick is just a stick a rock is just a rock Wood is the essence of life Earth the stable foundation. Where is air? Fire, Earth, Air, Water, Metal Air surrounds us It need not be said The essence of being in all living things is not limited to just one physical form! All five plus the one encompassing the Spirit, the Soul It will still be there when all is long to dust that spark of existence will carry us on that drive to live will carry us through.

How many words does it take to paint a vision for you? Short, sharp, economical or long, flowing text? Which do you prefer? And how much reality are you willing to accept in one siting? Lies don't have to be lyrical truth doesn't have to curt honeyed words have the same effect as ones that cut to the bone. So tell me what you can handle and what you can understand for life has no patience for do-overs.

Learn the rules so you know how to break them. Chiaroscuro to give form to abstract color. It is the norm when suddenly it isn't. A turn of phrase that isn't grammatically correct. It's so consistent until you find the one time that makes you pause and have to think. They know what you like the tried and true it should be a success its failure raises questions. Times change, norms adjust what works then doesn't work now What is reviled is suddenly revered cast up or down at the speed of life. Consistency is good yet if you stagnate what you create will not reflect your very soul.

A humble workshop where creativity lives Quiet and private tucked in the shadows of a Parisian alleyway or perhaps within view of the Bow Bells in London. The painter does yet another study applying the imprimatura and pulling out the lights out of the darks giving form to the formless and shape to the shapeless how many values black and white with warm grey and dark grey or even more than that? A sculptor finds life in marble chisels away the excess and what remains is the core of the stone's meaning. A potter shapes curves and ridges with their hands as the wheel goes round and round slower then faster then sets them to find strength in the fires of the kiln. Time hardly passes here but techniques become new as they are employed with the old.

Not quite queasy but you know that something just doesn't feel right. Head hurts just enough to be annoying but you can push through it. Am I sick or am I just tired? Or am I sick AND tired? It's hard to tell the difference anymore. What I need is a tropical paradise vacation waves along the beach where the palm trees sway. What I really need is a few days of sleep a long luxurious bath in that order.

The dam broke the rushing waters surged into the valley the force of years finally being set free. No one could hide no one could outrun the full fury of nature unleashed in an instant and Nature feels no guilt. Analyze the stones find fault in the building material in the very foundations the warning system was faulty there was simply no time. Everyone and no one is to blame. Others deal with the cleanup pick up the pieces let's look to the future. But we all know that in the grand scheme of things if you need to point a finger at the cause: it was the dam's fault.

Why can't the responsible adult play once in a while? Let them frolic in the meadow float down the river on a patched-up inner tube. Walk down the Boardwalk and devour ridiculous-sized hot dogs filled with cheese! Eat cotton candy without worrying about all the cavities! Run in the sprinklers and the fountains in front of the office buildings downtown! Laugh at the mime's antics until their bellies ache! Dance ring around the rosy until their heads spin with happiness! Pet all the dogs! Nap with all the cats! Echo all the parrots! Ride with the horses with the wind in their hair and a song in their hearts! Let them drop their burdens and be who they are for once in their lives!

We're doing the rounds here what's on your mind nothing is excluded nothing is sacred. Open your mind and don't cling to the same perhaps a new idea blossoms like a spring flower. The only block stopping you is your own set of stone walls Let them tumble down in a pile of hard rubble. You carry your baggage whether you want to or not dump it on the platform or let it drag you backwards A rarity to feel safe in a group of troublemakers life speeds along but you don't want to be left behind.

My dreams are held up by gossamer spiderwebs strong silk threads and they look fragile. But they are stronger than they seem. Suspended in air for years at a time it collects morning dew that dries up as the temperature rises. It takes more webbing to hold them in place even as the lair expands. They end up out of sight somewhere near the ceiling. All it takes is one spark one raging blaze that lasts only a second. It races along those strands and burns them away. Oh, I forgot those were there! As they land in my lap. I look at them in silence Old and cracked ancient and dried out. Now that I have them again what will I do with them? should I hang them up with new webs from old or can I finally see them in the light?

I wish I can write about floating cherry blossom petals carried by the spring wind the hiss of ocean foam on a peaceful beach on a tropical island. About the turn of seasons from winter to spring and from spring to summer how the fireflies dance between autumn trees. The fragility of life at the knife edge of death ah, I have a vision this is the meaning of existence at the end of the road. What is the sound of one mind dragging day to day living off sugar and caffeine dealing with life as it really is?

The pillar that holds the foundation ever reliable ever dependable. Through wind rain and hail lightning storms and deep snows Worn smooth with lucky touches on the way to work Early or late it will always be there Never erring and never complaining of the weight it carries. The young grow up and move on to their lives The old tell the stories of the one fixture in the past. But what will happen when the invisible cracks that run deep suddenly shatter apart?

It's a quiet life: He works all week at the computer What does he do to relax? Sit in front of the computer. Sometimes he falls asleep like an old man in his favorite chair headphones on his head blocking out wife, kids the rest of the world. Tiptoe around him don't make a sound No one does anything no one says anything he's in his element the master of the house I do not lie I describe the ennui of my life take care of all problems soothe the screaming children and show through words why fantasy is better than real life.

Rune-carver with your knife and chisel and your magical words on the tip of your tongue stone and bone leather and wood a talisman of protection a sword that craves blood Your curses are not taken for granted. Each part of the formula is a part of the whole no bit is useless and no shortcuts will do. Each stave has a meaning. More than just an artisan you are a mage with the power of life and death in your god-laded spells.

See pure white Not an inch of ground uncovered Over miles and miles With no end in sight. It's cold outside So bundle up before stepping out the door. And make sure you're wearing hat and gloves! Flurries dart past your eyes Over your head and cling to your clothes Under your coat to melt on your skin Rivulets soak through fabric Look, children playing outside Even dogs are paddling like otters Tears of joy crystallize in ice Terrible wonderful shrieks of fun Each minute a wonderful memory Racing heartbeats during play. When will the storm let up Or will it stretch out for days? Revel in the magic of it all Dally in forgotten childhood.

The snow falls softly softly with scarcely a whisper of wind and barely a touch upon the ground. Yet wonder fills brightly brightly with such a light of happiness and hardly a word of complaint. The child watches eagerly eagerly with bated breath of anticipation and carefully a sign of no school.

Every week the bite of the needle hoping to stave off the pain for a little while. It's better than sitting in a chair for hours while medicine flows through your veins. It's better than losing a day in a drugged stupor where sleep doesn't give you rest and family resents the loss of a Saturday. None of it is your fault just a body that is falling apart. But it's better than being dead I suppose.

The problem with making yourself essential: they like you for what you do and not who you are. Your worth is measured in convenience in time in efficiency and in coin. One disruption upends their entire world the whole operation grinds to a halt but the fault is never theirs. Even worse when you aren't there as an employee: when you're there on the bond of supposed love.

Not all is shiny and new with time all becomes more natural what it is meant to be. The storms overhead bring hail and high winds yet even in the dark clouds there is a hint of sun. The maelstrom swirls all round but you learn to stand fast they cannot uproot anything with a firm foundation. No one is in a vacuum nothing is left untouched but the strength of your resilience comes with the heart of experience.

They thrive in chaos One well-placed word one half-true fact They let the knives fly The truth is flexible and it is not completely a lie. It all depends on a certain point of view. All from a seemingly benign sense of propriety: "I thought you'd want to know. So and so has been talking you might want to set the record straight. After all I don't want to see you get hurt." Then they sit back and watch the arrows land straight on their targets. An observer of justice. Nothing is ever their fault no one is ever their favorite Everyone is treated equally at least as far as they can see. Pitting friend against friend lover against lover royalty on the chessboard but they're careful to cover their own tracks as they enjoy the festivities.

A bouquet of flowers Roses, to be precise Smell so sweet in the air See how much he loves me! Each day is a new beginning Never dull or boring It bolsters my faith that love Can solve all problems! Never a doubt that In his heart of hearts Going to work and coming Home each night There is the eagerness over Several hours of not being Here with me, and an Addiction that is hard to shake Desperate to race home Even as his heart beats quickly! Day to day I am restless Early to bed and late to rise As the months go by There is a foreboding Heavy in the air tonight.

What is life when there is no thrill in living? What is death when there is no memory or legacy? What is art when there is no soul or human heart? What is culture when there is no innovation or exciting trends? It is mockery when it is a mere shadow of itself. It is tragedy when the very best fall by the wayside. It is a travesty when an achievement great is subsumed by ego. It is a pity when they know it could be better.

  I. Grey skies shine outside a chill still enters the bones It's February. II. A drone to my left hear fussy minute details I dream of big dreams III. Making the best of ashes that slip through my hands find no diamonds. IV. The world has moved on and all my feeble attempts drop in the ocean. V. Mortality looms blackened petals curl and burn return to ether. VI. Name is not spoken true death happens twice over ghost cries silently. VII. When spring comes again thorns surround roses petals remember.

She seems to have it all runs her business like clockwork words pour out of her fingertips with little effort at all. Her children adore her she takes them to the park talks to other mothers organizes play dates Her husband brings her roses they sit on a vase on her desk his handwritten note next to it: "Just thinking of you." A whiteboard with all of the dates appointments, birthdays, meetings Not every day is packed some have nothing at all others have SPA DAY in big letters. Bills are paid on time her doctor says she has perfect health walks around her neighborhood practices yoga and tai chi for her own peace of mind. I look at that other woman marvel at how she does it and keeps her sanity through it all. Then I shake my head and pick up laundry from the floor.

 I muse to myself that I'm in the wrong profession. I should've been a meteorologist.  Yesterday was seventy-seven degrees Today is thirty degrees cooler The thermometer is confused.  I feel the air pressure drop in my joints and in my muscles. My ring clings tighter to my finger as if pleading not to let go. It runs hot and cold I wish Nature would hurry and make up its mind.

The park has come alive: dogs sleep on the grass children run on the playground teens shoot hoops on the blacktop fishermen cast at the lake. The warm sun bears down crickets chirp merrily the breeze stir the budding trees a couple sits on the bench and watches the goings-on. A writer sits in a shelter records her impressions in a notebook as the painter stands on the shore easel and paints set up captures a jumping fish on canvas. It's springtime, for certain and the earth unfurls from its sleep person and wildlife alike stretches and breathes in the warm air. Difficult to realize that it's only February.

Clear Concise Comprehensive and yet impersonal imperfect impressive. Breaking it down into Elements and yet not seeing how any of them connect. The details do matter every single one given weight being heard and they change the narrative. But concentrate on the bigger picture see how much it really matters miss the beautiful forest for the old gnarled trees.

Do you believe in footsteps in the night? Voices caught midway in conversation an echo of times past The walls can speak the windows can see the cries of mothers the gasps of lovers Lights flicker drift in search of their beacon in a room no longer familiar. Cold fingers caress your cheek blow across your skin want to tell their story make sure justice is done Footsteps along a lonely path doomed to retrace steps over and over like a recording. Whether you acknowledge it spaces have witnessed and scenery will talk.

I. The smell of roses where oh where does it come from across time and space. II. Danger like a snake glimmering fangs quick to strike hits glimmering shield. III. She wanders in dreams this ethereal maiden calling out to me IV. Wolf howls at the moon and I long for his embrace eyes bright as the sun. V. Journey takes me far Every day I hear her voice sings me off to sleep. VI. My world falls apart pieces together at last I wait till he comes.

Wake up every day one of two paths: disappointed re-energized. Path One: wonder why I'm still here yet another day in Paradise that is Hell on Earth. Path Two: There are Things to Do and each day is a new adventure. They all say it's a matter of attitude One leads to dark places the other leads to fulfillment But in my experience both seem plausible one seems to be reality the other a fleeting fancy. Which one is the real one and which one is what I want it to be? I solve that every day.

She looks in the mirror blinks and she is an old woman when did that happen? She does not remember. Her thoughts drift back to his smile a bouquet of roses that are now wilted the petals scattered. Drink coffee stare out into the rain in the fog she hears the echoes of children playing. Snatches of music a waltz long forgotten but she hums the tune traces the steps on the wooden floor. She cherishes the good times gives no thought to the mistakes a young ingenue again the belle of the ball an opera in her mind.

Starting again is never easy But this time it's different. It's because I want to do this not because I have to do this. Endless recitals reminders to practice more because all the aunties ask and so Mom 'asks' for a song It was like a gilded songbird trotted out for a single moment only to be put away again to hear the accolades given to its preening owner. A bragging chip for social credit "You have such a talented daughter." I have to learn the scales correct finger positioning all the foundation that had been skipped or glossed to get faster results I am like a little child again but I start at the beginning and work my way forward.

Love affairs with imaginary characters a writer's dream. In olden days they'd call me dreamer lonely, heartsick, insane Their thoughts haunt me crying out to be heard I am only their chronicler. Unbound by modern rules magic and mystery abide by their own calculations. Each life is precious with their own backstory how can we ignore them? Alternate lives in alternate worlds separated by the thinnest of veils who says they are not alive?

Sixty two degrees The birds are confused Plants poke out from the dirt Is it time yet? Two weeks ago the thermometer sat at eighteen degrees. Step outside not needing the heavy coat the sun's warmth bright reflects off the windows in cheery shadows on the wooden floor. Soft wind blows stirs the still-bare branches couples walk as children ride their bikes and their laughter floats on the breeze. Maybe winter is over. Perhaps the earth takes a breath tries to thaw from bitter cold enjoys this quiet reprieve instead of going straight into blazing summer.

Grass is greener on the other side when you compare things across the fence. Envy begets bitterness but it can spur innovation "Just why is it better and how can we achieve it?" "Can we reach this point can we make it better? What do we need to do and what do we need to change?" Seize the opportunity to improve your understanding to make your world a better, brighter place.

Twice a week now there is blessed quiet in the house. Kids are at school Hubby in the office I can concentrate on writing. Sometimes karma decides otherwise and I just roll my eyes. You know the saying "Don't say it aloud or you'll jinx it?" Maybe today it will be different and it will be uneventful. No sudden phone calls no last minute e mails no one suddenly sick. It would be nice to finish a thought all the way to the end.

It's rather odd... My ancestors have come and gone generations separate us and yet... I still feel them every time I take up my brush and trace every character stroke. And every time I put my hands around a bowl of steaming egg drop soup. When I go through language lessons wrapping my head around measure words and many dialects. I try to pick up noodles with the plain wooden chopsticks with very little grace. Today starts a new year The Year of the Wood Snake "Gõngxĩ făcái. Happy New Year."

 Sick to my stomach today feeling not that great one of those days I want to hibernate. Body can't make up its mind whether to be asleep or awake Stomach can't keep anything down even aspirin I take. Days like this sure aren't fun I know they come at times My head so fuzzy and so blech It's a miracle I can rhyme.

Reduce it all to its basic components how it all fits together. How efficient it works what kind of response would it bring as a whole? How much is it worth? Can it be replicated? Duplicated? How fast is the turn around time? Can we devote resources to make this even work? Consumers use critics analyze stockholders earn When everything can be traded and all assigned a certain price art and life are cheap.

My art studio doubles as the dining room table. Paints stacked in the corner of the closet. Poems written in the wee hours of the night when everyone is asleep. Sketches hastily drawn between doctor's appointments and daughter's music lessons. The piano book still on chapter two the guitar out of tune the strings gathering dust. It feels like splitting time between demanding lovers running from one room to the next and not devoting enough minutes for a proper relationship. But it is worth the hassle for a moment of peace and thinking all is right with the world.

 "What do you have to live for?" The mocking voice asked. "Everything." I whispered. "The feeling of wind in my hair sun in my face watching the raindrops slide down the window pane. "The laughter of children the satisfaction of a job well done. The sense of a banding together for a common cause. "The work left undone the songs that are unsung the voices of the ones who cannot or will not be heard. "The whispers of my forefathers the footsteps of the generations that have not yet seen daylight. The cries of the ghosts of our present. "The justice still not given the guidance that the lost needs the empathy that the world lacks and the love that must always bloom. "But most of all I really need to live for me."

For one so bold there are times when I hold back for fear of being laughed at or embarrassing myself. For one so confident there are times I feel unsure of every step I make or what direction I take. For one so artistic there are times when the muse doesn't speak and I grasp at silence wanting to hear her voice. For one so tired there are times when I dig deep inside and find the strength to carry on.

Thirty years old I picked up a pencil only spare doodles as the baby slept. I picked up a paintbrush mixed paints Those early canvases were hardly masterpieces done between play dates and kindergarten antics. Now fifty one pencils at the ready drawing characters while the kids are at school. Paintbrushes worn hues dried on the palette The recent canvases still reflect my mind done between crises and midlife musings.

Designing rooms: I'll put the living room right here I will have a fence the white picket kind and a wraparound porch with a swing for those lazy summer days And flowers in the front rose bushes and daisies There will be a creek in the backyard for swimming and fishing I will paint the walls frame the windows to let in the sunlight and bright curtains. Enough room for the family and friends who want to visit. A spacious kitchen for cooking and entertaining and a dining room for holiday dinners. And I'll fill my house with warm cheer and laughter make it an oasis from the harsh world outside.

 What is warmth? A number on the thermometer The sun-kissed touch of summer The smile of an innocent child The glow of a campfire surrounded by blinking fireflies pushing back the gloom. Candlelight in the dark burning in eternity calling the lost back home. Burdens finally lifted and one can finally breathe fresh clean air. Pristine sand on the beach the cry of seagulls overhead smell of tropical drinks A pet sleeping on your chest curled up under the blankets knowing that they are safe at last.

A sword of Fate befitting a ruler but what if the choice is rather blunted? The shadow that lies behind the throne A whim from a capricious God's hand? A dark cloud hangs over the castle a rolling storm threatens to break overhead. Look past the pomp and circumstance The royal robes and holy scepter The king is no fool but the jester's jokes are deadly.

I. Rose without a thorn Beauty without any teeth Ripe for the picking It cannot defend itself its petals torn and scattered. II. The desert flower defended by sharp sharp spines only the bravest would dare reach into the maw to claim this prized succulent. III. A sweet smelling blossom glows in the moonlight beauty is ethereal tea from its roots is divine sends you to heaven smiling.

A slow realization that stretches across years Innocent eyes watch every move unsullied ears hear every word Sleight of hand attracts their attention distracts their minds dulls their reflexes The world reduced to simple amusements shallow and not very interesting. The untrained mind can be controlled the inexperienced heart can be influenced to believe light is bad and dark is good and there is nothing in between.

My mind cannot let go of what went before turning every stone looking from every angle worrying it like a dog gnawing on a bone. What should I have said? What should I have done? Could it have ended differently? How will things change? What will happen now? Pore through every detail talk about it at every turn until the sympathetic smiles become strained their amusement becomes fake. I know I should stop let bygones be bygones fade into the past but I see it everywhere I turn the lost chances mock me. One day my thoughts latch onto some other subject where I cannot stop thinking and obsessing again the roller coaster starts once more.

In the depths of a tea cup the tea leaves sink down in different kinds of patterns random it seems or is it? Turn over five cards pictures in a puzzle try to make sense of it put it in context. Oracle bones from long ago cracks from the fire of fiery earth read in the moment mirroring the grooves in the turtle's shell or the runes carved in a magical formula for protection. Apply the known to the unknown to soothe a troubled mind.

The quiet ones hold the most secrets they speak them to the wind to the soil let the earth hear with every grain that slips through their fingers. Tell your story to the clouds and let their tears fall in cold droplets upon the seeds that lie buried, asleep until the bloody flowers erupt in the springtime. The stars witness every triumph and atrocity as they crawl in slow motion an eternity in a second a lifetime in a blink but they say nothing mute and not revealing the ending to the tale although they know.

A beautiful sight a row of colorful spines all facing you. A world by itself running your fingers along the line of thoughts condensed into parcels of knowledge. What secrets would they impart? What worlds would they unlock with every soft whisper of thin page? How will you know if you do not delve into this perfect line unless it is meant to just gather dust.

Sand slips through the hourglass clouds disappear the brook babbles secrets only time can understand. Snow lies heavily on the mountain the seas roil with thunder the Fates hold their collective breath and see what happens. Fire claims more and more chaotic wind scatter all in their wake every step leaves a footprint every pleas goes unheard. Sun and moon discuss what is necessary for the balance if the light is the darkness should it tilt the other way? The smell of incense and spring used to clear the holy spaces but the clamor of false teachings delay, distract, demean. Short term sights, long term blind No worries about tomorrow Let the bygones be bygones and the chickens come to roost.

A third of an inch not all that much but they have never seen snow before We tend to dismiss such little amounts of precipitation not enough to bother us. But they pile out and sift it in their hands get enough to throw it among loud laughter. It's enough to make you pause and remember the memory of a first sight of snow and how magical a moment it is. So I watch out of my office window and smile at their happiness the children have this forever to cherish in their hearts.

Worlds drift in the depths of a chaotic cup of coffee Somehow given life through the magic of a keyboard It bursts onto the page erupts into notes with unstoppable force. It cannot be contained as it swells with a voice needing to be heard. What kind of sorrow wrapped in beats of joy will reveal itself this time? The only way to find out is to let the voices speak from the depths within.

The inspiration for this tanka set is a blueskyrelay prompt on Bluesky. "Root" I. The root of all happiness It comes from within for if you are not happy then no one else can follow they can all see your light. II. The courage it takes to forge your own unique path you must be so strong even if others can't see and try not to understand. III. It can be lonely you realize who does care no matter how hard the road can be or how dark the skies above can become. IV. At the end you ask whether it was all worth it only you can know if being true to yourself is worth the light and shadow .

Already preparing for the year of the Wood Snake the Dragon will go back to slumber until it is called again. Snake is cool and cautious a detached observer analytical not swayed by fancy words or pretty baubles. But they are sensitive intelligent keen of delving into the mysteries of life artistic, creative. Be wary of the Snake but do not be afraid. Respect their space admire their patience they will be your friend.

Hopes dashed for a snow day today the skies are still grey the ground soaking wet but the temperatures are too warm for snow A disappointment to extend the winter break just a day or two. The kids sigh and roll their eyes the parents breathe a sigh of relief though the weatherman warns that the thermometer will dip tomorrow.

It's been nineteen years Since your smile graced the world. Every day I watch you give me that same smile your eyes light up with the innocence of life. And I want to protect you from it's hardships and cruelty. I worry about your future but I take every day one step at a time You're here for a purpose even if you are blissfully unaware of whatever it is. You curl up with your new pillow and plushies and hum your favorite tunes and all is right with the world.

Tastes familiar and yet new broken down in so many ways recombined into a flavor to please the tongue. Melodies old as time reworked into a new tapestry harmonies never before heard the ears ring with joy. Visions arranged in pieces then made whole again Blazing colors toned down Shadows made stronger by years. Velvet clings to every curve silk hangs in billowy waves Run your fingertips on ragged edges Stitches make them smooth. Notes of orange and lemon or of red rose and bergamot Fresh mountain air and sea salt Evokes memories from the smell. So many avenues of life every day, every hour the brain dulls itself for sanity but only if we can experience it all!

That feeling when some sense of normalcy returns to your life. Back to the schedule and to the grind. Play time is over and it's time to get back to business. But what if you sense that it won't be quite the same 'normal'. Like a stretched-out garment that doesn't quite fit anymore. It looks the same but it doesn't feel the same. Irrevocable no one can return back to the past that time is gone the clock ticks on on its ever march towards the future. But the longing is still there.

A year of hope of uncertainty of fear. Things will change days will go by faster than we expect or that we want. Children grow couples find new paths people just being people It can be frightening but remember where you are where you have been where you are going what you have accomplished what you have planned take it one step at a time one breath one heartbeat the present is now the past was then the clock ticked past midnight it's time to act accordingly.