A True Life

Like a good story
The trees unfolded at the top of the mountain.
Spread across the blue sky,
Resembling some far off, imaginary bird
Releasing its broad wings to greet the day.
Old barns swaying in the sun,
Promising something great,
Something new.
A well kept secret, a small valley,
Red kites meet the mountain.
A tale only told in books, fabricated by the distant winds.
Skirts hiked up so toes can touch the water.
Wild flowers spread like fire
Simple, calm and free.
A wrong turn, a subtle miracle, a new life to lead
Little fields with red fruits
Fireplace bricks scorched with memories.
A race through the grass, bare toes collecting weeds.
Braided hair tangled with lilies, old dirt road new foot prints.
Lazy days laced with dogwood.
Fresh lemonade on a Sunday evening, as the sun drops behind the mountain.

My Apologies

I knew that when starting this whole thing and I said that I would make a post every night or day..however as I foresaw I did not keep true to my promise. There has been a lot going on in my life, I was given two large cichilds which are big orange fish and a 36 gallon tank. To transport the tank and the fish I had to put 20 gallons of water in a bucket for them. I then put the fish in a small cooler and sat with them on my lap the 30 minute car ride home. I had intentions to put the fish in a bag, however, one of the bags broke so they had to just be loose in the cooler. I hoped they would do alright, they were scared but they made it.

I have had the tank set up for a few days now and the fish are doing great! They make a great addition to my room and I'm starting to like them..and their creepy little faces. I'll post pictures soon!!

Until next time,

Emilie

The Morning Hours

The morning hours are the greatest hours. Everything is calm and everything is quiet, if anything you hear the gentle hum of cicadas or the subtle tremble of a leaf where an animal has past. There is a warmth to this, each nostalgic breeze that reminds you of growing up, the smell of autumn of pumpkins and cooling weather of fallen leaves and 'the road less traveled'. Everything has a smell, every season, every emotion, every feeling all come with a distinct marvelous smell.

It's beautiful to walk at night, to feel as though you've lived forever. As though you and this incredible peace are the only things living. The world renews every night, flushes all the toxins that it can, all the waste we produce because we do produce a lot and now it has the chance to be simple, free. Freedom isn't even the best word but if it is, it's an unsurpassed kind of free a freedom I don't have words for just feelings and smells and sounds.

Take the opportunity, go outside...just sit don't take a phone, ipad whatnot. Just take your body and your emotions, that mind we have is more complex, unstoppable, more beautiful than any device with a screen, any phone, anything that thinks for us and so many people have forgotten that it's there. You're free in your head, that is your freedom your inimitable, incomparable, unparalleled, beautiful, beautiful freedom. So take the time to acknowledge it, revel in it. Learn to love and treasure what's yours and never let it leave you.


I've attached my favorite fall song, I highly recommend listening to it, it truly is beautiful.

Sliding Down - Edgar Meyer, Bela Fleck, Mike Marshall

Until next time,

Emilie

Ramblin'

Maybe it’s now that I have realized I am content, with the bitterness of the future and the ever returning past. I think it is now we learn that dreams are thickly distributed and very seldom come true. And still we continue to dream, before I would only ask questions and over time I proved there isn't always an answer, nothing is ever just right or wrong, I've found that my dreams compared to reality is a brick wall compared to a pile of rocks, the rocks being my reality. Meaning my dreams are stronger and more put together, my reality has been shattered and is unstable, and this I believe is why we continue to return to our dreams, our fantasy. We all need something strong to lean on. In truth I am scared, for those who have lost their brick wall it remains and torn and tattered as their reality, and I’m scared because they mask it, because they know it was something they cannot rebuild, I pity those that have no brick wall, they say that love knows no boundaries and neither does hate, and it is a true gift to learn to shrug off anger, it is those I envy that can realize life is to short for hate. In saying that I believe the true meaning of life is open to those who really want to find it, there isn’t a doubt in my mind that we all know where to find love and happiness and joy, but there are options, and sanely I would never choose fear and hate, disloyalty and doubt, over love, happiness and joy, then I realize sanely the decision takes no thought, then I remember, through time and experiences this world can easily morph the mind and make one go insane.

Morning Chicken Routine

When I wake up early which is seldom, I am soothed by the horrifying sounds of frightened chickens. My house is situated maybe a mile from downtown and I hear the usual trains and sirens and the regular chirping of birds. However, my plant-loving, photograph-taking neighbor has the most beautiful gardens and herbs and fish pond, and a really, really unique chicken coop made from recycled materials that's filled with three little clucking devils.

I guess I wouldn't be too bothered if they sounded like real chickens, at least then I could pretend I was on a farm somewhere but these..these chickens sound like they are constantly watching friends and family getting slaughtered in the most brutal way imaginable and I'm not saying that as a joke they sound absolutely petrified. I don't know if they're hungry or naturally annoying or maybe passing a really big egg..I'm not so sure how chickens work. I just know these are loud and obnoxious and unlike any chickens I've ever heard in my life.

Buck-Buck-BUH-GAWK!!

Until next time,

Emilie and Chicken neighbors

Enjoy the Universe

I'm thinking I really enjoy sharing poetry. If you're reading these I cannot thank you enough!

Enjoy the Universe
The Sparrow sings in the morning,
And though he weaves through the trees
His song is not forgotten
But it slips,
into the falling petals of the dogwood trees.
Enjoy the Universe,
Enjoy each passing moment that flits by like a
wounded butterfly,
Don’t reach out,
Don’t touch it..just let it slip away
To watch it die is the only way to assure its life
It’s wings are too fragile and they beat so fast
But it doesn't last
This place it doesn't last.
Enjoy the Universe
Enjoy every little thing you have because it will be gone.
Faster than you can recognize its value,
Enjoy the Universe
Every little bit that you see,
Because you will never see it all
and take your boat,
with a splintered mast and tattered sails and push
it out to sea…
And rejoice
Even if it should break rejoice
Because you
You know how to swim..
Enjoy the Universe and do nothing else..
The Sparrow sings in the morning
And though he weaves through the trees
His song is not forgotten

Tomato Soup

Tomato Soup

It was a Sunday like most and she walked to the store for a can of
Tomato soup
A kid two isles over bumped into her leg with his cart
He didn't apologize, and she was mad at him.
She picked up the last gallon of milk
Then put it back and grabbed the pint
Skim, organic with an expiration date she’d never reach
She stood in a line to pay for her things,
The old woman in front of her was buying cat food and cheddar cheese
And she laughed at her because she was somehow pathetic and strange,
She locked eyes with a boy in the front of the store,
They were blue and bright, he had cropped blonde hair and a brilliant smile,
Maybe she could talk to him when she was done here.
She was next in line but the cashier ignored her, instead she devoted attention to the terrified screams outside.
People ran everywhere and some came into the shop, for shelter and safety.
There’s nothing more painful than listening to a grown man beg for his life from a stranger who’d gone crazy and decided he’d ‘had enough’
She watched them plead for one last look into the brown-edged photos in their wallets.
People laugh and they joke about death but when it’s staring you in the face,
And you feel its warm breath on your cheeks
You can hardly think at all and your mind is like a bad book with all its pages out of order
And you can’t control what comes next.
In those few moments she tried to take everything back, trying to remember what she did this morning where she left her laundry. She tried to take back her cynicism toward the woman and her anger at the boy, she continued to ask herself why she didn't grab the gallon when she knew she could drink a full gallon and she got the store brand when she should have gotten the campbells.
But she didn't.
It’s not safe inside anymore,
The pristine tiles are no longer clean.
Her eyes followed the boy, he was fit and handsome and about her age,
With kind eyes and a blue collared shirt,
She hid with him behind a shelf,
They were quiet, she and this boy whom she’d never met but they smelled the same,
They smelled of fear and words the two of them would never again utter.
He turned to her, a stranger, and confessed that he’d never loved a woman.
Cans of beans and corn that litter the shelves of lovers and families alike topple over onto them
But they don’t move.
Instinctively they clutch each other’s hands and sweat pools in their palms
But they don’t move.
The footsteps that seem to control the store eventually call for them, he’d never loved a woman but in that moment he made the choice to put him between her and the edge of insanity.
She saw that his shirt tag was flipped up and his wallet was sticking out of his back pocket.
So she tucked his tag and touched his shoulder and felt the air leave his lungs for the last time.
She was alone.
The last sound she’d ever hear was echoed by sirens that were just a little too late.
It was a Sunday like any other and she walked to the store for a can of
Tomato soup