The Story of my Blog Title

Quilt of Dragonflies- My blog is named that for a reason.I am lucky enough to own a genuine Quilt of Dragonflies, which I am sure brings me good dreams when I sleep beneath it. It was given to me by a friend of my mother's, who handmade the entire thing. Color meets pattern in this fantastic piece of artwork which sits on my bed. Brilliant shades of purple, blue, and green intersperse with tie dye dragonflies. I will not hesitate to call it my inspiration.

Tuesday, July 23, 2013

I have a truth to tell

I have a truth to tell.
When the rain dances down to the pavement
Sometimes sideways in the wind, always falling to the earth in time
And the cars make whooshing noises as they pass with headlights glowing in the late afternoon. When thunder laughs, deep in its throat and tosses lightning carelessly downward, and the green of leaves is so bright against the grey that it blinds.
These are the moments of clarity, when the water swirls around ankles in the gutters and there is a simple peace sitting by a window.

This is my serenity.

Infrequent Friend

she smiles at me
and we are in munich, all around the buildings climb towards the sky
someone is selling fuit on the corner, signs-kirsche and
pretzels bought at the market where rain drips between the overhangs of stalls
and each moment we spend together is a hundred things unsaid, of lives entwined but infrequently joined together. we have one weekend in this city.
at each stop of the U-Bahn, pressed faces against the glass of the train windows
we wave at passersby, expecting no response other than smiles we share and the hope-that somehow we have managed to brighten one person’s day.
when do we realize that living in the moment is made up of thousands of memories?
with each new city street we relish in the freedom to remember what has brought us together. in each park, where we giggle at the naked man or watch the surfers fall over and over into the white water, but continue to return to their places, an unbroken line of courtesy.
and then we are on a train, escalator, in the airport saying goodbye with looks that speak for themselves and hugs that mean a year before we meet again. and my pack is heavy on my back, heavy with regrets of each moment I stayed silent during our hours together instead of speaking what is in my heart.
and she smiles at me , a watery smile, final glance over her shoulder as she returns to the train and we turn away slowly, I cannot believe it is over already. bending down, I pick up pieces of the new experiences we have shared, ready to tuck them into a pocket of my pack, saved always for a rainy day.