Bed of Orchids

The paradox of love is the devil.
Though he walks softly in the night.
He's abrasive like a hot kettle.
So I'm sure to hold him right.
His hands..
More gentle than growing petals
Reaching up in a shadowed incline.
His touch..
Like a burning water
Drop after drop under the moon shine.
He grips my hair; texture of a flower
In the garden, we stand, dead of night.
Him and I.
We are iridescent in this bed of shadows.
As are the orchids whom whisper from all sides.
The sound is heard by the soil.
The thought is peacefully intense.
I grip at the ground though it's nowhere to be found.
By the roots he has ripped my existence.

~ B

Walking With Wanderers

Sitting on a hillside, I look out over a river. I squint at it through sunglasses as the sun is always too bright on mid-summer days. My skin smells of tanning oil and my toes are sandy. The earth below me is cool which feels nice.  It radiates off of the land onto the backs of my legs.  The ground seems to be breathing.  I stand and wander down to the river bank.  The water is loud, crashing against rocks, but the air is quiet and peaceful.
I always stand right next to the water line. Perfectly out of its reach as it expands out nearly skimming the fabric on my shoes.  This is an empowering feeling but I am not sure why.  I crouch down to examine the rocks embedded in the water.  Apart from this sight I see tiny tadpoles swimming frantically.  As I lightly skim the water with my finger tips, I swish the tadpoles away so that there is a clearing for my feet.  I stand and dip one foot into the water.  The other one follows.  The water is cool and this makes me smile.  Around me people of all ages seem to be gathering as they play, laugh, and skip rocks.  I walk further and further out.  The liquid is deep and shocks my skin as it climbs up my body. Soon my entire canvas is submerged.  I bob up and float at the top.  The current takes me down the river as I allow it to. I float past a bridge that rests above me.  People are walking back and forth on it.  Some are standing and talking.  I wonder why they aren't in the water too.
A child is following me; he laughs and smiles at me.  We are the only two drifting.  Soon we hit a shallow bed of water and I sit up.  The boy joins me.  He asks me what I'm doing and I tell him I'm sitting in the water.  He giggles and asks me why.  I tell him that it's nice to sit here and it was fun to float down the stream.  He agrees.  He takes my hands and asks me to walk with him.  We walk out of the river to the bank where green grass rubs sand off of our feet.  The boy tells me about his grandfather who taught him how to fish the day before.  He had caught 3 fish and released them.  I walk with him back to his parents who were playing with his younger sister.  He waves goodbye and runs to them.
I proceed to walk in the other direction and I think about what it is to be free.  To let your soul become liberated and walk around where you would like.  To pass anyone at any time regardless of age or ethnicity or status.  We walk, we play, we smile.  We are free.  The feeling can really get to you. Trust can circle around to become a touching moment.  Anywhere at any time, you can meet someone that will forever imprint on your memory.  The point is made that we are always moving, learning, and loving.  We live our moments and we tread forward.  As we walk with wanderers.

2/16/2013
~ B