Life

Flying Abe // JATW

Fly, My Son.

Flying Abe // JATWFly, my son. Fly as high as you can into those soft blankets.

Today, you are filled with joy. Waking up isn’t hard for you.

If anything, sleep is a hindrance to your precious, wild soul.

There’s so much to learn, and I see it happening on your face.

Both good and bad, scary and incredible, you will learn it all.

In time, my little love. In slow and gentle time.

It’s hard not to protect you from the world. “Why?” You ask.

Because I’ve seen the world. I’ve seen it’s monsters.

And yes, there is so much beauty to celebrate, but the monsters…

They do more than go bump in the night.

And sometimes, the beauty seems lost.

One day you will be a man, we will have taught you how to fight.

To slay the monsters, like you do now, with your costumes and toy swords.

But one day, it won’t be a game.

“Why don’t you want me to grow up, mommy?” You ask.

Because I’m selfish. And I’m scared.

And somehow I love you at the same time.

Today, though.

Today, let’s play.

Let’s pretend you can soar o’er the roof tops like Peter Pan.

Today, you will take pictures.

And we will see the world from your perspective.

You will dance in the living room, and watch cartoons.

Keep flying, Abe. Fly as high as you can.

Today, you are filled with joy.

Bare Feet // JATW

Bare Feet

Bare Feet // JATWI stand on this dirt patch that my son likes to dig out of, feeling the damp cold underneath my toes left from the incessant amount of rain that happened over the weekend.  It’s humid out here, but not the sweat-my-ass-off kind. There’s a slight coolness to the small breeze that passes over my face, bringing the aroma of summer grass mixed with the first stages of autumn leaves. It’s coming, I can feel it. Fall is almost here. It arrives late for us Floridians, but it arrives nonetheless; especially in North Florida.

The sound of dragon fly buzz accompanied by the songs of two different species of birds rings just loud enough to create an accompaniment track for outside speculating. Not too strong, as it often is in the woods, but just as you would expect for a rural part of town where nature collides a little less manicured with the modernization of human creation.

The muted sky is overcast, but the sun still shines through the clouds enough to make me squint, and I succumb to my closing eyes, taking it all in with my other four senses.

If I accomplish nothing else today, which may very well be the case, I can at least know that I’m valued. I believe it to be true; His Word tells me so. But He is reminding me with the dirt, and the breeze and the buzz and the light.

 

I am alive, and I am loved.

Pep-Talk

3jPYgeVCTWCMqjtb7Dqi_IMG_8251Why am I afraid to write this article?

Because it’s not bubbling up out of me like other words have done. Not every piece of work writes itself, and I have to get over that.

Not all words come out with ease and creativity, and this is where I can decide to be serious about my craft. This is what makes or breaks a writer; an artist of any kind, really.

Sometimes, we have to pick up a shovel and dig the words out of the layers of dirt and rock. The willingness to do this alone separates the amateurs from the greats; the reals from the fakes.

 

Pick up your shovel, Megan.