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A word so strong, a word so brave. It sinks into the skin, touches my heart and  lifts the soul.

It finely weaves into my life, a gradual push as I reach and fall, fall and reach. Tumbling, rolling, on through life. Building, faster, stronger, rushing in with colors bright as day, vibrant as the ocean. My very core melts as I close my eyes and breathe in deep sighs of happiness. Music soft, a space within my mind, a beating tone of the piano as the violin dips in, adding melody to the rhythm of my heart, beating slower as I calm in the face of my new world.

Lie flat on the ground. Emotions waft through the air, unspoken and unwavering in their power.


As if born for this moment, my mind sheds the blankets of my mother’s nest. It flies into the open space, the chosen cage, the clouds on which to sit, the trees where my mind and soul will flutter to new heights, as thoughts grow and darkness falls – a sunset just for me.

As I wake to the new sunrise, turn the page on my life and open the windows to my new home, I smile.


Tangible as I taste the sweet air. I spin and spin within the sound of the morning. Birds chirping, then quiet. I stand, motionless in my joy. Independence was my dream, is my dream and now my truth.

Soft, the morning light still lingers, as it flows over my lips, a warm embrace for the new day. I marvel at the vibrance of the sun, of the moon and of its stars. So much has changed and yet so few, in such a space of time.

Yet life seems new and endless, in this new place. My home.


It swirls around, the realization, growing louder and louder in its silence, a hurricane of soundless wind, wrapping my mind in its arms, until it reaches the eye. I curl up in that sacred spot. Warmth glides over me, happiness its dear companion.

May I find all that I want and need, in the loving arms of my thoughts, left to dance and brood, twirl and shout, cry and sing. I scream into the night, a deep gulf of raw silence as I welcome the roaring winds of




Olafur Arnald New Album


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“‘For Now I am Winter’ … is inspired by the dilemma of not really believing in an after life, but still wanting to believe that things are not just lost into oblivion. But at the same time it inspires you to do as well as you possibly can as a human being, while you have the time to do so.” – Olafur Arnalds on his 2013 album.

My favorite neo-classical composer and artist has released his new album. Sometimes I wonder if he composes with the sole intent of expressing my soul and my questions. I look forward to committing the new album to my heart. Minimalist melodies, simple even as they trigger the most complex of emotions. “Found Songs”, his 2009 album touched me with my first listen and has featured as a soundtrack to numerous contemplations and writings. He defines the neo-classical genre for me and I wish the best for this new album, in particular with the vocal additions. If you ever wonder what music you should listen to when reading my love-children of poetry and prose (as described by a dear friend), then listen to Olafur Arnalds. Of all the artists I listen to, meeting him would be of the greatest honor.

I am going to listen to the album fully and then write a proper review with some comparisons to “Found Songs”, my long-standing favorite album.

Sensing, Breathing


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One step at a time. Moving, slowly, a breath caught as I take in the surroundings.

Woods. Small and young, brown with the fall and caught in tangles of vines and leaves. Smell has never starred in my contemplations. Sight, with a feel for what surrounds me shapes my thoughts, as my mind shapes that around me. There must be animal sounds, but I hear nothing. Nothing until I see the little deer, its breath too quiet, but its fear singing in the stillness.

Winter, grief stuck in my throat, buried under my thick layers as I move, just to keep from realizing the truth. I’d have run if I could. Simple feelings, strong as always, keep my mind racing, the walk taking some part of the frenzy, even as the rest courses through me. How can I be so cold, and the feelings so warm?

Rain. As I sit on the bench, thunder rolls all around, above my head some slight protection, which I soon abandon in favor of the downpour. Silence on my part, as my mind is overwhelmed with the constant sound of water hitting earth and tree. With the wind rushing about and the warmth of the summer day wrapping around my damp figure. Wash away, away away. Til I’m left with only a slab of wood, shining darkly with new touch. Ready to face the day.

The sun rises above the valley, as we crest the smaller hill, mounted on the side of this small mountain. The strength used to get this far, depleted, as we stare in silence. I feel a wave of heat, remnants of the summer, rare on these cold mornings. Spice cider and the rush of wind, driving through the curves of the mountain, back to life and all its realities.

Soft touch, rough mane. A snort and flick of the ears reminds me that I’ve work to do. Slowly I brush the loose hairs away, patting her warm neck in reassurance that I won’t take much longer. A memory, and I stop. I lean forward, my cheek pressed to her side, as I take in the smell of horse all around. I hug her neck, my arms stretching, her body too big to enfold. Warmth, comfort as I am reminded of the beauty of this animal. A nudge to my shoulder and I get back to work. But first, I stroke her nose, a scratch behind her ear. Moments I’ll always hold dear..

Never more then when I am alone, yet never alone for the world around, does nature pervade my very essence in this way. I’ve no desire to learn the names, the shapes, nor the traits. My senses suffice, my experience exhilarating as I whistle softly to the fox and he turns and stops to stare. Those moments in their singularity, find my hurt and heal it. My walks bleed out the poison, the elements drive out the pain. The softness of the creatures bind and stitch me back again. The strong, hard oaks and sycamores willing health into my lungs, as I capture a hint of their scents, to be forgotten shortly aft.

I could not imagine life without my legs, to wander through fields, forest, and hills. I could not imagine life without my ears, to hear soft music on the breeze. I could not imagine life without my eyes, to capture the valleys far down below. I could not imagine life without words, spoken or written, unsaid and unwanted, to teach and to tell me which ways life should go. Yet one or all I could lose at one time…

I heard at some time, that life could go on living, for I’d four limbs and I’d five senses. Remind me of this when one day, I grieve for a friend who showed me life in one way.

Conversations with Wind and Stars


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The awkwardness divides, even as feelings swell below the surface of the thick winter coats, that late calming night. Never before have I so enjoyed a walk through a park with someone else. I express the thoughts tumbling through my head, even as other thoughts breeze through, murmuring to me what he’d told me earlier that night. Grief, not anger passing through; the death of Opportunity.

The stars are missing, hidden beneath the whiteness of the earlier snow clouds, as the lights from the city all around make the darkest corners clear. I talk to fill the spaces, as I do when fear sits at my door, tapping nervously with his foot. Those silences that I do keep a while, are peaceful. As if we always knew each other, while the rush of words crash into our newly-spun illusion, bringing our lives into sharp detail, even as our senses and instinct give us a picture of each other that a camera could never capture. The details unimportant, the odd strange utterance ignored, as languages melt together.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m even speaking out loud. Is he even there beside me? I’ve walked these walks so oft before. My company a fox or cat. Alcoves shielding from things too strong. My conversations with wind and stars. Walking without direction as I wonder and wander. Is he still next to me? Has he not melted back into the trees?

I daren’t look some of the time, pain and realization keeping my eyes fixed everywhere else. A glance meets his eyes, scaring me more than the words that came too late. I promise, its not love. I’ve not known him long enough. This connection, this sweet moment, more precious than all those before, yet not today and not tonight. A break into reality, torn in the fabric of my daily life, ripped out again once the wounds are barely scabbed.

Peace. Desired, yet unwanted at this time. No pity will I take, for fate’s cruel blow tonight. I listened to the magic, I followed its sweet scent. We dove into the moment, came crashing to the shore. All magic has its price, my knowledge came too soon. Will it ever show again, how life can make one heart from two? Puzzle me this, with pieces gone and others changed forever:

Can there be friends,

true special friends,

who aren’t friends

but lovers.

Who aren’t lovers

but soulmates,

Though that’s too much to ask.


to share their passions

and join their lives,

grow their hearts

and feed the souls.


it needn’t be much,

just something.

Is that too much?

We don’t ask for much…