Independant Coincidence

Ken Lay died on independance day weekend.

A Place

Lately I've been wondering if what I've been doing for what seems to be the better part of my life makes any sense. Or if where I am both physically and figuratively is where I belong. Where is my place and is it soon going to be time for a change?

I imagine it is because M is growing more independant. This causes me to turn to friends to fill the need for giving. One of my dearest friend's dad is probably dying. She doesn't know that I am crying inside for her though I have called.

Independance Day weekend M spent the weekend out of state, with his dad who went to bed at 7:30 pm. He sat alone watching meaningless movies from a carton on a portable dvd player wishing he could be somewhere else.

Meanwhile, I packed a bag and my dog and went to visit Mom & Dad. It was a beautiful night on the boat. We watched fireworks over the water. There was a magnificent natural lightning show in the background. I've never seen anything like it before. The wind carried the smoke away while the colors, that seemed brighter than I remember from previous years, reflected in the rippling river. There was a sideshow of vodka overpowering the spirit of my mother- tugging at humor, love and the devil- that dad and I tried to overlook.

THe next morning I had a date for coffee with an internet e-match that turned out not to be. He sat in the outside cafe waving as I drove in. I had one look and wanted to keep on driving but didn't. It was probably the most humid day we've had all summer and this guy had on a long sleeved black silk top that appeared never to have been laundered, and long, heavy jeans. I was barely dressed in a sleeveless top and short-shorts. The hour seemed like an age, and I felt smothered and gasping for air as I drove away - to spend the last day of independance day weekend on my own.

Impressions

Smothered
dark noise, breathless silence
waiting
Holding
the curling edges of
strength
the scent that lingers
along the paths of
Your journey
the glittering reflections of
generations of giving
Returned
from whence it came.