When Life Shakes Too Wildly, I Reach for Root and Vine

I am dancing with Uncertainty. She shrouds me gently, looks me in the eye… and in hers, I see tears reflecting all the good—and bad—that has made me the woman I am. On days like today, when she threatens to smother my heart, I let Uncertainty waltz alone, while I dance with a better tomorrow…

I wonder if in the latest bit of Autumn, flowers and bees fear Spring won’t come back…
1-bee-on-red

This wee sprig is the product of accidental pruning. Horrors, too, can breed good things…
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…the lavender plant continued to bloom prettily… for a little while.
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When I prepped my Montauk daisy for the cold whiteness of winter, I found a green squatter…
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…the squatter hopped away after being kissed by quite a bit of rain.
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I captured this glimpse right before more rain danced all the autumn blooms awake.
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My blood orange isn’t blooming, but she’s gilded… in celebration of the Marine Corps Birthday—241 years of history shouldn’t go unnoticed. And yes, I’m missing that yesterday… Not the periods away from home, or the eyes that silently screamed, Your vagina doesn’t belong in my penis world—I will never miss those. But I miss the joy that bloomed with every lesson learned… especially the one that always reminds me that an unfit leader doesn’t define me, my Corps, or my values.
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Dearest ivy, gilded herself yellow…
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…and the Montauk daisies bloomed all the way (I think ivy likes the taste of pollen).
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The mango plant is growing and probably dreaming Caribbean dreams… Mango always does.
*I often dream similar dreams*
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My beloved passiflora darling got pruned and repotted… She is adoring her new home.
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Refusing to be outdone by an indoor ivy, a neighboring outside maple tree gilded an evergreen.
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Yes, the inhabitants of my urban jungle (and their outdoor neighbors) are always blooming with tales that vine and root through Uncertainty’s hold, morphing her pricks and pangs into soft susurrations.
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When the sun comes out to play, I shall walk my woods—old trees dance great tales. I need to hear their, This too shall pass tunes. Chaos will spin. We will turn with it. And tomorrow will be… When life shakes too wildly, I reach for root and vine. How do you dance with Uncertainty, my Luvs?

Spectre

There are so many choices… Some slick and smooth and glossy and prepared to show me the world after just one touch. One or three can bring me fanciful pleasure, if I only give them an arm and a leg and most of my uncommon sense. I am tempted. So tempted…

For hours, which are centuries hiding behind screen glares and keyboard comfort, I roam the realm of electronic chaos… Temptation is not enough. My frugality and I can’t choose.

A gent clad in blue says, “She won’t get too hot on your lap. And if you are a little rough, she will be able to take it. She’s made of sturdy stuff.”

I am rough. I like sturdy. But she is a tad too steep.

My Piano Man reads the struggle in my face, and reminds me, “Frugality is often steeper, in the long run.” His sage tongue-kisses my qualms, and I start tilting towards temptation…

In the long run, I’m enthralled by her name—Spectre: “a visible incorporeal spirit, specially one of a terrifying nature; ghost; phantom; apparition… some object or source of terror or dread.”

to dance with dark words,
the new Spectre has become
my charming laptop

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the wee notes…
– I had all sorts of fun writing this haibun—it marks the culmination of my computer shopping, and every word of it is true. Also, it felt nice to write something heartwarmingly creepy… especially after scaring one or three of you half to death with “We’ll Always Have Smoke Signals”.
– Linked to Sanaa’s Prompt Nights—Obsession continually fills or troubles the mind… (by the way, for a short while I wondered if adding this to an obsession poetry challenge would be pushing it a tad much… Then I remembered that most of us are quite obsessed with our electronics *and as always, by “we” I mean “me”). Also linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Tuesday Platform.
– And, just so you know, although it was only about a week… I freaking missed you!

gothic-womanvia
(yes, the spirit of my laptop looks rather lethal in a corset *cough*)

We’ll Always Have Smoke Signals

She was doing just fine. And then the fainting spells began… She’s an old gal and all, but I hoped we would be together at least until my 40th birthday. I know she is trying. So I don’t blame her… Time is hard on all of us (the insufferable bastard). I must learn to let her go…

…especially since she has fainted at least 8 times in the last 30 minutes. Maybe she fears this note. Perhaps the word hiatus is too scary for her. I understand that. Still, we all have our limits… and my enough-is-enough seems to go nuts in the presence of constant Victorian cyber-swooning.

So, my Wicked Luvs, I’ll write you in a week or so… My household is rather busy at the moment. I need to wait a bit… computer shopping is more fun when I do it with my Piano Man *cough*.

Until then, I shall see you on Facebook and Instagram. And if my phone also fails, we’ll always have smoke signals… and shouting… really, really, really loud shouting… and ellipses, obviously…

hammered-socksThese awesome socks were made for writing (by hand?)
and for getting hammered, it seems…
but since I don’t drink, for writing by hand they will be.