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Illusive Peace

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Her house is stifling.  The fan above her clicks a rhythm and she lays as still as she can, hoping for relief. She pushes herself up, forcing movement that reverberates in her head. Walking through the rooms, she checks windows, praying for the breath of a breeze. She loves this house. Here she nursed and nurtured her babies.  The walls show signs of life-- fingerprints and smudges.  Smiling faces, captured and framed, adorn the walls. But, the walls are closing in and she retreats to the sanctuary of her room.  The thoughts are pressing, intensifying the pain in her head.  She tries with all her might to force them out. You're not welcome here . Still, they come. Persistent, they are. The fan beats in time with the judgements- ' not e-nough, not e-nough, not e-nough'.   She puts out the welcome mat, hoping for sleep.  Instead, she cries, curled into herself. But, the day is like any other, demanding, not to be ignored.  Amazing how ...
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Listen to Me

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Did you ever wake up in the morning, like usual, you turn over, check the time on the clock, happy to have a few more minutes, listen to the sound of your kids downstairs, cringe at a shout, stretch, then, suddenly-- you remember? Then you lay there all alone and smile stupidly to yourself? That was me. This morning. The reason for my stupid smiling? This- http://www.listentoyourmothershow.com/northernutah/ Last night, just before bed, I got an email. (Yes, I check my email A LOT. It's on my phone, so...) This email congratulated me on being selected for Listen to Your Mother. (jumping, squealing, maybe a victory dance) My audition was such a coincidence that it surely cannot be coincidence. I was perusing the internet and looking at random ads on a local news site. I clicked on 'Auditions/Pageants', hoping I could enter a Mrs. Frumpy Utah contest. (Me in an evening gown and tiara? Dream come true!) And, there I saw an ad for LTYM/Nothern Utah . In a fi...
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Small Stones

Crimson leaves pirouette and plie, Tenaciously hanging on to their knotted barre. The troupe sways in rhythm,  A late autumn dance, Moving to the music of the wind. (This was my Small Stone, written today for Mindful Writing Day .) 
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