I wondered if the fixed smile–as I perceived it–wasn’t also a wince from hurt carried constantly conscious. Inescapable.
It’s the kind of fortitude and okayness that come only from soaking up the outpouring from a ripped open heart.
Throughout 2020 I photographed from my back porch roses which bloomed from the same vine. New Year’s morning 2021, I scrolled through these photos and the song “Lo How a Rose E’er Blooming” came to mind. I searched for lyrics and discovered the origins of the song from ca. 1600 on Wikipedia. Isn’t it trueContinue reading “New Year’s Ode To Mothers”
Love is a mess of romance and compassion. Compassion can remain.
Therapeutic tunnels promising greener grass succeed when they dump us back on the brown patch where we began.
As, by aging, wisdom besets me absent volition, a realization unfolds from within… some interpersonal relationships perhaps born of transaction or convenience evolve to survive…