Belonging

Women thirsty for friendship can find each other the way a swift wind spins into a tornado—it is fast, and it can be final. 

Sometimes there's a reluctance in it, a hesitation. Did I choose this family, or did it choose me? 

Because I see you: I see your failings, I see your specialness. I see your soul—and mine agrees. 

If belonging is a decision as much as an avalanche, then then I will bury us in intention and claim you for my own. 

If it's circumstance—just a strong wind from the north, a snow that will maybe melt and fade—belonging to you, even for now, feels like the most beautiful, sparkling summer: too short, already memorable, and so, so warm.  

Let's always meet here, in this summer garden. 

The Best Worst Time

What does it mean, crossing over into a new day? 'Midnight' seems like such an arbitrary line, a single mile marker on the long stretch of highway between cocktails and dawn. We sure do give it a lot of attention, though. 

It's by far the most serious of deadlines, the most shameful of snacks. The mere stroke of it can turn you in, turn you out, or get the night turnt. For the more pious, midnight is only for screenings or Christmas Mass; any later and you're up to no good—or the no-good is up to you. No bar crawl or house fight ever looks good past midnight; decisions past 12am are the stuff police blotters and Moth stories are made of. Because this is the razor edge of night: the crack where black cats haunt, where nightmares slip in. 

Yep, once realized, midnight nags you like a narc, a ticking cloud of over the rest of your evening, a curse you can shut out but not off. And when you finally do get home, if sleep's sheep are too far afield, midnight's approach and passing is the anxiety-inducing hours by the window waiting for their return.

Not that I have anything against it, really. It's not midnight's fault we blame it for our misdeeds, for missed curfews and alarms. The poor hour gets buried in sleep, demoted to the least productive part of the day. At least, for most. 

But to me, a Writer, this is dark refuge. Furthest from frenetic noon, midnight stands in opposition: a place to stop and listen, a deep well of oily ink, the fuel I find most reliable when time slips away. Midnight is the rich soil I sow ideas for tomorrow's plucking, even as it keeps me from sleep. 

Once over the irritating specificity of it, it's easy to find luxurious moments here, at the bottom of night. Still houses, fresh starts. The low, long chime of a grandfather clock. Prayers and melodies. Love and clarity. 

Lost in conversation with an old friend, midnight's the hour you exclaim over for having come so quickly. And wow, what a show-stopper on the eve of New Year's day! I know from experience: it's twitchiest, witchiest hour to ring in a first, lingering kiss. 

Midnight, you are the boldest of night; do not shelter me from slumber but from fear, lust, loneliness, heartache. Though an uncertain salve, you and you alone are my dark day's tonic. 

Shapes like Stars

Columbus Circle, NYC                                                                S. Lybrand 

May we all find ourselves in a moment so perfect and magical, that the air feels like silk on our skin, our bodies vibrate with health and vitality, our heart settles into stillness, our mind focuses so clear and sharp we could pierce clouds, herbs and florals perfume our every breath, the horizon's burnt embers turn water into glitter, trees into gold, and sky into God—and may we all stay in that moment long enough that dark descends and melts into a mess of stars.

The Sound of Silence

The sound of their cold, rigid silence was deafening. He found not speaking to each other so much more effort full, both mentally and physically, than conversation. Casual talk, even if flanked by long periods of quiet, did not have anywhere near the same weight. No, he knew this silence was an aggression, an act of war, and he only hoped she'd tire of the burden and put down her stoney weapon. His white flag was ready. Always proportional to the size of his transgressions, he figured this would be a 2-3 day freeze out. Then they could go back to their easy banter, their complacent bickering. But for now he knew all too well the rules of engagement, and they were simply: do not.

On the horizon

This will be the year! The year suffering ends, the year no one dies, the year we all learn a lesson. This is the year all the projects get done. The year our home is in order, the year I lose 20 lbs. The year we make more money. The year I get involved. The year we take a stand.

Oh yes, it's the moment we've all been waiting for! A fresh start, the turn of the calendar, a wave of the wand. Suddenly there's the time, patience, funds, power, stamina--to do it all, and to do it magnificently! Thankfully, bliss is just around the corner, perfection mere steps away.

Only about as far as the horizon.

Where the road leads

The road, if you could call it that, leads into the heart of the jungle, and only our driver seems able to pick out its twists and turns. At one point it disappears altogether, into a shallow river, and we squeal as he changes gears but doesn't hesitate bouncing the jeep directly into the roaring waters. Currents rush up and over our tires, bumper kissing waves, and the boulders and rocks that once pockmarked our path are now what is keeping us all from drowning right here and now in the muddy, marshy riverbed.

But as soon as our swim starts, it's over. We're back on dry ground, bumping along. We eyeball each other with the same thought: the day hasn’t even started yet and we're already having a story-worthy time! So much so that when we stop and pile out in the next clearing, steps away from a sparkling beach, mildly frightened but also exhilarated—we're reminded that we're very much healthy and alive (not to mention privileged).

Little did we know what else was in store. We'd be reminded of our mortality a few more times that day, in adventures that include coral lacerations, vehicular strandification, dwindling water rations, and a stalky, hungry jaguar. Tales for another time! (Comment: the photo is obviously not mine, but the attached jungle nymphs are indeed the same as those who crossed a river in a jeep, not once but twice that day.)

Someone cheated

It's cheating if your partner doesn't know about it.

It's an agreement if your partner does.

Adventurous is when you pick someone up together. 

Kinky is when everyone else is invited, too.

You're vanilla when just the usual will do. 

You're GGG--good, giving, and game--when anything (within reason) keeps it new.

Date night keeps you close. Dating secondaries keeps you on your toes.

If monogamous: love is static and finite. 

If poly: love is a fluid, renewable resource. 

If "monogam-ish", take your pick:  liquid, solid, or gas. 

Water to quench, clouds to clear, ice to preserve.