...:: * ::... 

I kneel and extend my hand in invitation...he comes eagerly,
thrusts his velvet nose into my palm knowing it holds his
favorite treat—a pinch of oats, blueberries, or maple leaves
picked fresh from the backyard. His mouth is impossibly soft
against my palm...the softest sensation I've ever felt.
   Once again, I marvel at his beauty. He looks the same as
the day I first saw him and carried him home, cupped in my
hands, held close to my heart, nearly thirteen years ago.
   The treat finished, we stretch out flat on the floor, nose-to-
nose, chin on carpet, and commune. I tell him my deepest
secrets; he listens, liquid brown eyes closed, drifting into
sleep as I stroke his ears and cheeks.
   Graystone, little lapin prince...show me your dreams.
Let me see what you see...

* * *

"At least once before I die, I want to remember everything I've ever touched. Maybe not all at once though as the swelling of a single sense must surely crush the others, but slowly, positively and without compunction. Piecemeal, reunification.
   I want the surface of everything to reanimate my nerves and concentrate in the tips of my fingers. Rise slowly, like blood from a puncture, eking in darts and figure eights around the lonely boulder of my heart."

...:: *  ::... 

A small rock fountain sits beside my bed, a gift from my parents,
fashioned by their hands. I don't know why, but I turned it off
several months ago. Perhaps because I heard my mother's
voice in its song.
   Yesterday evening I found myself craving something I could
not name...then saw the fountain and knew what it was.
   She sang me to sleep again last night...a wordless flowing
lullabye, beautiful and serene.

* * *


still playing with the water bottle