the bamboo races the honeysuckle to take over the farm

the bamboo races the honeysuckle to take over the farm.
and there is evidence
of the hog barn which i am sure gave such a stench, i am grateful it was before our time.
of the horse barn, for horses borrowing this land, i dream of having hooves here someday.
there are silo pads that i imagine give way to some underworld tunnels that i will have to discover anytime now.
and of the chickens.
the poor little sweet chickens that have been plucked from this earth, one by one. i loved you all. well...mostly...there were a few in the beginning that kinda made me wonder if i was brave enough to take on the animal kingdom.
but for now, it rains and i am content.
the trees grow high, the grass is plentiful, and the mind can run aimlessly through the overgrown meadow, the bamboo forest with lovely warrens of forts, the pine tree forest where everyone has learnt their tree climbing skills, the barnyard complete with bonfire pit, the empty chicken coop, the backyard in which nobody plays, the side yard where all the evil snakies live, the landscaped-ish front yard, the secret dog run, the evolving confidential clubhouses of honeysuckle, the hidden highway overlook, and the deteriorating spring house.
never, and i mean never,
are you to venture down to the highway.
and i mean it.
which reminds me,  i'll reign my brain in for a minute and check on the boiling water, the chatter of kids and friends playing happily in their rooms, and an interior landscape i have yet to conquer.

yes, i am content.

july millionth

we decided it a million times

we'll sell all that we own and move

we'll live like travelers and focus on what matters

and we both really mean it

i want to think this time it'll stick

we'll set goals and burn the trail behind us

we'll live like we're ablaze with an urgent mission

and we both really mean it

we decided it a million times

we'll start right now or maybe tomorrow

we'll make some progress sooner or later with all our might

and we both really mean it

pondering at the seems

as i crossed the old bedroom, i remembered how not long ago, my son would open the screen and pick a rose of sharon bloom for me and present it as a gift. i felt saddened that i had not spent more time remembering the best about him lately. there never seems to be enough time.

as i picked up the small framed picture from the floor, i remembered how a lifetime ago, my daughter was a tiny beginning whose every word was an amazing discovery about her. i felt horrible that a time warp occurred whilst i was pining for something different. there never seems to be contentment.

as i sat on the reclaimed wood benches my husband had made, i remembered how i met him all those years ago, a quiet gentleman who had such fury in his heart. i felt clouded by our fog of bills and obligations and lists and failures and tarnish. there never seems to be enough forgiveness.

as i sit on the chair in the corner of our bedroom, i pray for peace, for memories, for time, for contentment, and for forgiveness. i find the last line is forever the hardest to write.