take my hand and climb with me…

fifty five degrees: ‘if the curve of you was curved on me…’

New York ~ Snow Patrol

fifty five

Ferocious gale, races howling. Horizontal, rain falls. Trees bend, nature’s grace. Yoga’s surrender, art acceptance. Curled, warm and safe. With books, blankets. A trilogy of cats. Grateful I can write, in bed. And read. Again, ‘Chasing Daylight’. Eugene O’Kelly’s key, passed on. As I struggled, sorely struck. Forced to face, change. Metaphorical wind, laid waste. Garden of my life. And later, shipwrecked. Heart ripped, rudderless. Every line, these lyrics. Apply. From the love to the lightning. Listen, love. Listen.   


For storms scatter, wet the earth. So seeds might, fertile home find.


There’s so much this hurt can teach us…

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This entry was posted on November 24, 2012 by in Spring and tagged , , , , , , , .


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