The Crying Moon

"Watch your step" he bellowed as I threw one clutsy foot out of the truck door...the second fringed moccasin hit the parking lot floor before I could quip over my shoulder "I know"....

Of course he knew I wouldn't remember to be careful...
couldn't,
it's not in my nature....
And before landing at our last stop,
I parachuted out the door
and landed in a pile of pick up sticks on the gravel driveway.

He cringed. I laughed. And we called it a night.

In the morning, black and blue, and hobbling yet again, I remembered falling in slow motion... the click clack of the door opening, the billowing waves of wind as my ruffled and crumpled skirt sailed behind me, the smile creeping up fast, frozen laughter captured in polaroid color, right before I hit the ground.

In the morning I remembered,
that sometimes,
I just like to fall....

Face first into the moment.
Kiss the gravel goodnight.
Take chances.

And sometimes,
I skin my knees.

It was a crying moon,
And I could have cried,
but it wasn't in my nature.....

I needed to save that for a day I was steady on my feet....

Pajama Day!

It's raining. That thick, delicious, syrupy kind of rain. The world, as far as I can see, has been draped in one giant cottonelle sheet. For a moment, I think I'm a bird, and the giant hand of God has tossed a towel over the cage to slow us all down. I'm listenin' to the man. Staying in my pajamas all day.

I open all the windows and the morning wetness settles in, a free spirited ghost drifting through the windows. I like it. There is no sign of the Saturday morning sun. The moon has been showing her up lately.....the eclipse a strip tease act that left us breathless in the streets....and last night, the glowing, all knowing mischievious face in the sky.....the full moon rising. And now this, the sun hiding, sleeping in late, staying in her pajamas all day.

I'm rewriting my life today. Starting where I left off, except someone hit the rewind button, and things are all happening in deja vue. The same lines. The same stories. The same meant to be's playing over again in slow motion, only this time I get to pick which ending I like. The butterfly effect. Clink!