When We Fall Apart

“It’s falling apart.”

“It’s always been falling apart.” As I walk away from the glass dome, I poke him in the head, doing my best to smile as I call him, “silly goose.”

And then, I feel it.

The ship gets rocked with the blast. With fire cracking tectonic plates to bits. Crumbling lives, calling for rescue. A million things left behind.


I feel the shockwave. Tremors of love and loss. Of desperation and pain. Of joy.

Of hope.

Beneath the glass dome of the ship, he stands and watches as it happens, and I can’t blame him for not looking away.

The world beneath us burns. Continue reading “When We Fall Apart”

Thankful Memories

I remember the chill in the air. The way the leaves folded to it. Fell before the shaking, turning as they dropped. I remember seeing the dander in the air. Small pods of pollen flittering to rest on anything and everything. I remember watching the hawks drift. Carried by it’s weight.

I’ve never seen him. Never. Not once.

Not yet.

And still.

I remember him.

I remember the wind. Continue reading “Thankful Memories”

What I Learned From The Wilderness

The rain is a pattern. A beat. It drums endlessly, shuffling from leaf to leaf, from branch to branch until, finally, it hits the ground. It moves, and it shifts and it desperately reaches for something solid to land on.

The ground soaks it in, this melancholy soundtrack.

Eats it up. Adores it.

And who could blame it?

How could you not love something that falls so far for you? That reaches down from the heavens, just to crash into the ground below? Just to have a small, tiny chance to shower you?

The rain is cold, and wet, and sometimes its unwanted.

But it’s beautiful.

In the wilderness, it’s a love song. One that I can’t help but appreciate. That I can’t help but sing along to.

Thirty years in the wilderness, and still.

I find it beautiful.

And still.

I find myself.

In this mist, and under these branches, and in this downpour, I find myself.

I find my way. Continue reading “What I Learned From The Wilderness”

Star Collision

“Do you know why I brought you here?”

I don’t.

One minute, I was in my room, sulking. And now, I’m somewhere else.

Somewhere else entirely.

The stars shine beneath my feet. Like standing on a glass aquarium, only, instead of sharks, there are millions of fires burning. Lights that flicker and don’t fade. That burst, but don’t explode. A brightness that I can’t describe, that shines brightly like a thousand suns to create a million rainbows to light up a thousand thunder storms. It’s the top of the world, the mouth of heaven. A place anyone would be mystified by.

It’s glorious.

But I still don’t know where “it” is.

Or why I’m here.

So I shake my head at the man. The man who had the funny markings on his face. The white-hot glowing eyes. That angelic smile.

That angelic smile that looks so accepting. So knowing.

So soft.

“Let me show you,” he says.

Honestly, I don’t know how he can show me anything at all.

It’s far too bright here. Continue reading “Star Collision”

Catching the Sunset

I have never been a fan of the sunrise.

New beginnings…

They suck.

Just speaking realistically. They’re scary, chaotic. You never know what you’re truly in for until you’re in it, and by then it’s too late. You can’t change your mind at that point. The new beginning has already begun. You’re a train on a track heading toward something—whether it’s a station, or a town, or a cliff with tracks dangling off the edge—and you just can’t stop.


Sunrises suck.

They’re blinding and brilliant, and I’m always too tired for that. Too tired to wake up, to take part. By the time I rise, the sun is already up there, doing its thing.

And that’s fine by me.

I’m not into sunrises.

I’m more of a sunsets kind of person.

Because there’s always time for a sunset. Always.

I can always catch a sunset.

Always. Continue reading “Catching the Sunset”

Waiting Pains

I’ve always wondered if it was selfish or smart.

To leave someone behind.

If you’re not loving them enough if you leave. Or, perhaps, you’re not loving yourself enough if you stay. Is it right to stay? Is it right to leave? One has to be better than the other, doesn’t it? One must be right, and the other must be wrong.

Is it wrong of a cheetah to run ahead of a turtle?

Is it wrong for an eagle to realize a rhino can’t keep pace?

Or is it wrong for them to not be patient? For them to not keep waiting?

I don’t know.

And I sorely wish that I did. Continue reading “Waiting Pains”

Earth: The Final Frontier

At first, it was just a game. Just something I was doing to pass the time. To entertain myself.

But, after a while it hit me. Dawning like the last day on earth.

It was so much more than just a game. Continue reading “Earth: The Final Frontier”

Reach For the Earth

Stretching is an act of self-preservation. Of working muscles. Making them perform. Tearing them—ever so slightly—to make them stronger. Better.

To stretch farther.

To move better.

To excel.

All I want is to stretch my reach. Continue reading “Reach For the Earth”


There is a well within us.

And it is full.

Full of the things we love, the people we love. They make the waters we draw from. Give us life when we thirst. That water fills us.

And it fills others.

When the water is depleted—when we lose a source for our well—there is a dip. A brief period of time in which our well is not as full. We feel the loss. Draw carefully from the well, and draw only when we need to. It is not a drought, but our minds and hearts tell us it is close enough. And yet, after some time, the well is full again.

Because we get filled.

Over and over again.

Our sources do not leave us empty. Do not deplete us. They share the water with us, and we share it with them.

Because they exist, we never run dry.

But, of course, that only applies so long as they exist.

Where does the well get water if there isn’t anyone to fill it?

Where do we get water, if our wells are empty?


Where indeed. Continue reading “Thirst”



It drenches this land.

This land is a desert. A wasteland. Desolation drowns this dry place, soaking its way into the veins of the people. Into the very fabric of their minds. Of their being.


They starve for water. Long for something to hydrate them. To bring them life. To renew their soils. To give them something to cling to, if only for a moment.

And I will give it to them.

Continue reading “Bone-dry”