M, M & M


Maple’s limbs encircle its trunk like one big hug.  The thawing ground  gets white rubber boots muddy while I lingering under this tree during my Mile Morning Meanderings.



A Moment in Time

A Moment in Time


A sweet four-year-old watched me pull on my jacket and slip my feet inside my boots. His long eyelashes swept over his innocent blue eyes. He asked me, “Are you going to be gone long?”


“About an hour.” I answered.


He tilted his head to the right (funny how we unconsciously do this when we are thinking) and asked, “Is an hour a long time?”


I zipped my jacket and crouched in front of him. I smiled big and told him, “For me an hour feels so very short. For you…it is a wondrous, glorious amount of time. Enjoy every minute and I’ll be right back.”


Being a true-to-form-four-year-old, he asked, “How many minutes do I have?”


I stood and happily declared, “Sixty-seriously-standout-seldom-ever-to-happen-again minutes.” I laughed and went out the door.




I’ve heard it is good to keep a bit of the child in you alive; I’ll do that, especially in observing my perception of time.


Although, sometimes it is good to have an HOUR feel like a second, a WEEK feel like a day, a YEAR feel like a week, and FOUR YEARS to feel like one cold winter I’d rather forget.



Always by:basheesima  

 My heart

beating like, a mad man drummer.

Your hands

touching me, yet not my lover.

Closed eyes

startling, static energy.

Your lips

speaking, truths not forgery.

My spirit

joining too, embodied with you.


As children, my sister and I would lie on the bed and take turns closing our eyes while the other, starting from the wrist, tickled up your arm using the fairest touch done in tiny-roaming circles.   If the squirming soul with their eyes closed correctly guessed when the other reached the inside crease at the elbow—they got to be tickled again—if not, which was usually the case, places were switched.   Have fun trying it. J



The struggle is real. What’s on my fridge? Not in my fridge, which is nothing. Actually, I do have six gallons of water occupying its shelves, which makes my refrigerator act as if it has food. And in the back lower corner is a lonely box of baking soda making only the plastic smell fresh. But these are on the inside; I’m struggling to understand what’s on the outside.

For beginnings, what is up with the blue bunny sticker that has a dog sitting in its belly? Did the bunny eat a dog? Must be one big bunny. Hey, can I eat that?

Of course, there is my friend’s kid’s art. I think the “kid” might be in college now, but we are too afraid to remove the “fine art from the fridge” for fear it is synonymous to some voodoo-doll-type murder.

Now I come to the “too good to be true” La-La nail files. Colored glitter green and righteous red sparkle, dear me, just awe-inspiring and hard to choose which to accent my next faux-drag outfit with—La, de, la, la—Laaaaaa!

Lists! Why—why are they on every fridge I have ever lived in company with? Lists of do’s, lists of don’t’s, lists of better do this, instead of that. Indubitably I need my lists and my lists need me!

I am forever fascinated with time and our magnificent worlds of life; how we all turn, burn, and return…answers wait to truly be found. Can there possibly be another Einstein?

I have a wonder woman magnet—only a best friend can give you this and honestly show his love by gushing out, “Because you are.”

A piece of white paper with specific lines and a G-cleft with no music written in, inspire him to create notes carried magically through the air—they are heard, are enjoyed and are written in one’s heart with no need of paper.

Every day, I hope: In all my days—not a one like this!

Verily, sometimes I come to my fridge and understand. Other days, life has a lot of bumps in the road. I try not to hit them all or I’ll need unthinkable alignment. The struggle is real.




The first instant I listened

to a man playing the piano at sunset

on a long sandy beach

no one but me and my dog

prancing in purple waters

and him playing.

So sad.

So powerful.

I stayed, listening.

The second I saw a pillar of sun

shoot to the sky

while walking over granular snow

during a cold sunrise…

I heard his music.