Stone Paths

Some musings from September 2013

Stone Paths


Blooming Obsolescence

At times, I find myself utterly unappreciative of anything sentimental, and this is so strange, of course, coming from me, a constant contradiction. At my core, I am probably the most sentimental person you’ll meet. The other day, I attended my friend’s Grandmother’s birthday lunch.  Actually, it was his Great Grandmother.  And that gave me even more of a reason to tear up at the table, while she was reading her cards aloud. Mind you, the people who are actually related to her are peacefully sitting in their seat, almost unaware that they are even at a birthday party. 

Another illustration; I’m at the grocery store, and some kid is whining about his beloved Frosted Flakes, which really means he wants Mom’s attention. Meanwhile Mom is, no surprise, conveniently sidetracked and therefore bothered by the spew of vocal jibber jabber that seems to be erupting from the front seat of her shopping cart.  Now, here I stand oohing and ahhing at the protein bars, shifting my weight incessantly, feeling my face cringe involuntarily in disgust as this lady blatantly embodies a merciless jerk.  Harsh words, and even harsher consequences.  I can’t stand the smell of hate, so I quickly find a more productive route, pick up two boxes of Frosted Flakes and pop them in the family’s cart.  Can’t promise she bought them, but at least that prolonged stare I gave her while doing it probably caught her attention.  

But then, there are those times, distanced from something, I find not a thread of significance in sentimental matters. My eyes glaze over reading beautiful poetry, and I actually find it quite pathetic.  I’m just being honest.  When I know, logically, everything is significant.  But then again, I guess nothing is significant.  I think I’m really getting somewhere with this…hahaha

Perfect Circling

I’ve lost my love.
There’s a first for everything.
Wind feels colder without his smoldering stare.
But the light of the heavens shines stubborn
Against the rain. Puddles impede my brain,
Blots of ink evoke love and suffering.
For that day, we may meet; perfect circling .
There’s a first for everything.