Strawflower Fluff

Oh, but what will it be this time?
I've thought about Morocco,
that paradise of colors.

I've pondered the rainforest of Costa Rica...

and even this thought excites and then dissolves.

No, No, No.

I'm still shattering.

There is glass all over the floor, so I buried that broken Selenite, all dying things become reborn, and Mama needs healing, and fast.

Strawflower seeds and fluff have been scattered, but I wonder, will you find a home?

Assuming I'm exactly where I need to be, there is nothing more or less I can do.

And this right here is transforming.

So I make plans to keep plans,
and I'm re-learning to walk.

We slick our feet in Steroids so we can walk a little faster,
but maybe it's the slowing down that I need help with.

I've thought about the very fact that anything is a possibility and open endings look like dead ends when we try to look too far ahead.

Stomach this:

read about food, laugh with friends, snuggle with family, dance to rock music, create, craft, breathe.

It's this that is.

Marrakesh is calling, but be patient my darling, you know you are allowed to breathe, and I prefer you healthy and singing weird tunes.