July 23, 2011

The air was filled with the smell of pure morning dew. No synergy existed. No fundamental notion of where we had been. The soundless beach was now given an ocean with no remorse. A stage was being set for all the world to see. Time was no more. No ticking clocks or minute hands. Only sounds with a single set of footprints. Was this what happened overnight? The light shined so bright in the sky and no one knew why. All the recipes of life were gone. They had vanished with the wind. No watermelon rind or meatloaf. No rice pudding. No sweet cornbread muffins. No grain or fame or glory be. Only scent above from sent above. There was no smell or taste. No right or wrong. No short or long. The carousel spun around and around, but it was an empty land. No fruit to bear. No clothes to wear. Water fountains were dry to the bone. It made you wonder. A lot! Was I late for the sky?

July 19, 2011

Do you remember the back country roads of yesterday? The winding hills of gone days by and honey bee stands. The lingering taste is still upon my lips as I sip a white and red of southern delight. The crisp characters and lovely hues. The picnic tables dressed for revenge as we sat on top of the wind and watched the world fall away. I wanted to know this country again that was only a stones throw away. All the lazy hazes were set up on cue and never a minute passed. The blinking yellow lights that never turned red. The warm summer nights as we lay in bed. I wanted to think of nothing all day. I wanted to lay in the lush of surroundings and time. I made it mine all day. The transformation was apparent. The heat was sweet. I didn't want to leave this world behind. All I wanted was this peace in time. No struggle. The road back home took on different angles and dressed me with many angels. I wanted to pass on slow motions, but time passed instead. It passed all day. No looking back and always moving forward.

July 18, 2011

There was no rush to do this or do that. The road and clock were ours all day. Conversation was plentiful and meaningful. We took our cash, filled our tank and dropped off a few to the library. We even hand delivered a camera or two to be processed. We looked at ads and talked of light and pillow talk. The stop for lunch was appealing and suffice. The salad was fresh and the burger was divine. We laughed and joked and talked about tomorrow. The innocence of magazine never made it past page 3 and the glance of wishful thinking and make believing only lasted a brief afternoon. It was so fun. The no attitude and the low altitude saved grace from interfering. The lost art of love can be a genuine art in itself. But who's keeping track of time? The gas station? The window dressing? The TV weatherman? I learn a lot of days gone by and pies in the sky. The sweetness of life is so tasty. A bite. A smack. We lick our chops and want some more. The walk of life is distant, but never far away.

July 14, 2011

I told myself that today was going to be different than the day before. I wanted to believe that truly in my heart. My smarts weren't that smart and my hand of cards looked like a weathered stack of old photographs. My hands were shaking all day. I couldn't talk right and I couldn't walk right. I put my change in my pocket and I headed for the rotating door. My head revolved for an opening into tomorrow. I tried to like what I saw, but the truth was too big: even for me. All I really wanted to do in life was shine. Not that much to ask. To make a walk in the park look like a millionaire talk. A salty grin was all that remained, and me asking why over and over again. Where had all the time gone. The plants in the garden were greener and the pie in the sky was further away. My mind wondered. Was this life? A beginning to an end. There were no more letters to send and no more reasons to bend the photographs. Life was now a snapshot of itself: a time gone by in the time of now. No notes to be played. No message to be heard. No fascination to the future. My coffee is a source of enlightenment and my pot is an empty decanter. The smoke screens of my mornings are often filled with haze, daze and struggle. From the time that I wake till the time I make is never taken for granted or forgotten. There will be a shine in my heart tonight. There will be notes to be heard again. There will be photographs to be taken and pies to be baking. The garden grows as does life: over and over again. Amen.

July 12, 2011

The sky was so much bluer than the day before. The wide open bloomed for a tumble and a fumble. The stairs of my complex looked down at the stares of my complex and my complexion melted from the humidity from above. The rain was flavored today of ash, cash and orange-cucumber blossom. The baby frogs jumped away and ice cream tasted better in the rain. Time to go with the love of flow as the splash of pool water filled our noses. We hid from our fathers and talked to our mothers about the countless questions of a 12 -year-old girl. They laughed and giggled all the way to the bank, store and even more. The lingering looks in the mirror turned into sleepy gazes and daily mazes. We walked a fine line all day only to find a little more to say. And when the day was done. And when the day was won. The sky turned bluer than the day before. The bees made honey. The salt was money. The sugar was as sweet as the air. We didn't care. We said "Goodnight", and yes "Sleep tight." The bed bugs stayed away all night.

July 8, 2011

Little by little, we draw closer to those around us through love, trust and food. There are no magical ingredients that bonds those three items. We wish upon a falling star, and hope to God and pray to God that we are truly who we are. We search for those that take us back to days of peace and understandings of the heart. We talk in unison of times gone by and fill the voids with "How ya' been?" We walk the walk and talk the talk with never to mock. We cry together and laugh like crazy. We pray. We eat. We eat some more. We sprinkle our plates with cilantro, lemon zest and chopped cashews. We grate the nutmeg. We talk of the Caribbean, guava and island skies. The dream scape surroundings are a picture and a painting tied with swirling brushes of cumin, chili powder, mace and curry. The boil of shrimp oh so far away turns up at your doorstep where friends are welcome again and again. The toasted pumpkin seeds float endlessly from the sky, but we never ask why. We dive into spinach, fresh watermelon and balsamic fig dressing. We raise our glasses of Riesling and sip to today. The taste of Basmati is one that lingers, but never fades. We wait for dessert with open arms. The chips of bittersweet float forever down our throat with a touch of pecan and a hint of orange. We hug and tell one another goodbye. We are so blessed. We call and say "Thank you" and ask "Did you make it home okay?" These are the days I count. These are the days I count again and again.

July 5, 2011

Simplified notions of red, blue and white. We catch our breath as a year of reconstituted glory slams into the financial debt systems of our souls. We live. We control. We sip out of our bowls. The tainted smiles are overgrown milk moustaches that are now climbing the walls around. We search for the truth. It gets harder to find the older we grow. The bullets have all landed and we search for the sky. We close our eyes and think of days gone by, the mooing of the cows in the pasture and Granny's apple pie. We lay by the light of the moon and put coins in our banks of love. We struggle with the here and now. The battle cries out for our new beginning and a day of rest. Resolution is a bitter affair. We conquer ideas to make light of our days. We grow beards and such to hide our emotions. We walk around in circles all day long. We sing a song. We count the notes of silence in between the harmony of our lives. We pray. We color our coffee with bittersweet and vanilla yesterdays. We want to play on the sidewalks again, but our hopscotch drawings are faded by rain: truth and comments.

July 4, 2011

Pull out the fried chicken and turn out the light, we're gonna' have a picnic with blanket in sight. It'll be a grand affair with all the latest trimmings. An all day affair with potato of salad and slaw of Cole. I might take a nap in a little rabbit hole. Give me a biscuit, give me a scone. I just wanna' feel like a brand new home. The rooms are all clean with footprints in sight. There will be ice cream, of course. Strawberry, coffee and vanilla. Three types with French, speckled and plain old-fashioned. Chocolate chips, fresh fruit and more, will be on hand, just like a little grocery store. The dogs will be running from yard to yard, hoping to find a scrap there or a handout here. The hot dogs will char on the outside with care. They'll be relish, ketchup and all sorts of mustard: yellow, spicy and maybe even Dijon. We'll pray for those far away to come home. The chips will be flying like little flying saucers as we watch "Born On The Fourth Of July" and listen to flashbacks of Billy Joel, Don McLean and Simon with Garfunkel. "The Boxer" will play like an anthem within, and the church echos with the sounds of silence. Watermelon will be sliced, hacked and eaten. The spitting seeds will be target practice. We'll save our doubts for battle and blank ammunition. We'll pray that we never see that day. Candles will be lit at the end of the night as fireflies spin circles around our alcohol breaths and smoking cigarettes. The booms. The pops. They are all in the distance. A train whistle blows while I'm sharing my confidence of New Years resolutions. I'll stuff my face with pies of apple, berry and maybe even of huckleberry. The forks will turn and the spoons will snore. We wish for the best and hope for the future. We start again and do it some more. Like never a time have we seen before. We sleep. We rollover. Can't wait until next year, then we do it some more.

July 2, 2011

Puppy dog tails and summer moons,
Winding trails in the afternoon,
Can you help me to find my room?
Cat naps by the window sill,
Lazy days reading by the winter mail,
Can you help to find me soon?

Long ago and far away,
We see the signs to the future.
Maybe it's time to make it mine,
I won't a way to capture.

I'm sittin' in the kitchen in the month of June,
Waitin' for the heatwave that's comin' soon,
Can you help me, please me oh my?
I wanna' come home in the afternoon,
With flowers in hand that are in bloom,
Can you help me, I'm gonna' fly.

Waiting all day and taking my time,
I'm trying to be in the now.
Hoping today will be the day,
That I'll be taking my bow.
Learning to walk, again and again,
I see myself in the mirror.
Longing to be, I'll find my way,
Images in the mirror.

Long ago and far away,
We see the signs to the future.
Maybe it's time, to make it mine,
I wanna' be in the line of the future.
             
                                 Long Ago And Far Away-Todd Redfern/2011

June 30, 2011

Looking through the doughnut holes, I see photographs of long ago. The frames are dusty and the sun shines brightly upon them. The memories of the past creep on us like yesterday. We smile sincerely at the dry and the damp. The cold has brought us good intentions. The cream is poured slowly into the coffee, and we sip with patience. No hurry. The smallest speck of light is trying its hardest to peek through the open blinds into the living. We close our rooms and doors that shut. My balance is frail. The pail of water on my porch is half full from the days rain before. We long for more. My cat rubs on my dangling arm. My chair has weathered another storm. The secrets we keep within us for life. I shall tell one day when all is well. My cat snores. The waves lap endlessly on the shore and I break for repair. My wish of all and might have beens has stayed with me for decades. I ponder for the sake of serenity. The waves crash and the sun is shining just a little bit brighter. Today will be. The seagulls fly lower as the boats approach for their day at sea. And I see the wind blows. It's warm and inviting. The seaweed has swept across the beach and the wind is picking up momentum. I wipe the sand from my lips. The air is salty, but it's life. Gratitude is sinking into my soul. I look through another doughnut hole and I'm back to stay. The photos are stained. How true of life. How true of you. We look upon the who knows where and see a new horizon to the day. There are no holes in life: only sand in our feet and breeze in our hair. Take a picture and let it fall. The surprise of it all is within us.

June 29, 2011

We live in a company. Company of who we work for and the friends and relatives we keep in our communal bonds of friendship and heartbreak. We look high and sometimes too low for our friends. In all honesty, the trust of friends don't have to be sought out at all: They Just Happen. In the lightest of laughters. In the days of hardship and in the moments of bliss. Friends can also be a game of hit and miss. We establish our awareness of new, and before you know it: they're gone. In the blink of an eye, and you don't even know why. They say that friends don't need a reason: They just are. And did you know, that if you take the word friends and rearrange the letters, it spells "If Nerds". There are no issues with the trust of friends. You could say the most obscene or perhaps ridiculous, and hesitation would never be an issue. We look for comfort in them: as warm as a bowl of chicken noodle soup. There are the summer rains. The honey scented flowers. The waves on the beach that happen ever so often. The coffee is poured and dessert is served. There is no rivalry of sorts. Mine is yours and yours is mine. Not till the end of time, but for many years to come. We make fun of ourselves and the way that our laughs ring out loud. We take the time to find the time and talk like no one else. It's not always a cup of tea or a spelling bee, but always a hug for hello and a wave for goodbye. We talk about the dreams that are ours and the mistakes that we've made. We don't hold back on the memories saved. We drink. We pour. We drink some more. We are always on different time zones when we are away. A letter here. A phone call there. We check in from time to time, but always find the time in our hearts to listen to one another. It may be harsh. It may be true. We don't really care. We listen. We hold each other in times of grace and walk in the hush of rain. We don't care about the issues of the world. We look at each other with dignity and homemade cookies. We drop the chocolate chips on the floor. We pick them up and eat some more.