Campo Sestina - in progress

Far up near the clouds, lives a girl in the mountains.
She works in a place they call El Campo.
When she arrives, the people say bueno.
Life moves slow
here. In the mist
little changes.

The whisper of change
tiptoes through El Campo
high up in the mountains
where the people say bueno
as the donkeys pass slowly
by, carrying wood that will draw the cold from the mist.

In los estados unidos what she had missed
was her drive to make change
being a super hero - bueno.
She had the need to climb mountains.
She faces her fears the opposite of slowly.

To Where...

To where the mountains dress in green
and play hide and seek with the mist.

To where the people are complex
in a way that is simple.

To where practices make more sense
and less sense at the same time.

Like having a cow
instead of having medical insurance.

To where ingenuity turns shoe polish into white out
and the strength and diligence holds fast
as the tin roofs that shoe polish lives under.

To where the rain falls on that tin roof
and the clothes will not dry....

For a whole season.

To "mucho gustos"
y "si, pues(es)."

To los cuyes
y despedidas.

To feeling like the car you're riding in will fall off the cliff
just inches from the window
your side is pressed against
and somehow finding a way
to trust anyways.

To those moments of laughter
that you just almost understood.

Not quite.

But you laughed anyways.

Friends

I met this really cool girl at the gem show.

We ended up having a ridiculous amount of things in common.

I love making friends like this.


Then, Christina and I ended up joining the drumming circle at the park - something we've been joking about doing for about a year now.

Ok, so it was only one other drummer - because of the super bowl.... but, baby steps...

Really odd and awesome rainy day.

Two Benches

Two benches sat on a hill.
Neither bench knew of the other.

The fog crept up.
The sun went down.

The ravens crowed.
The horse neighed.

Still, those two benches sat.

Will those benches ever know the other?

That, no one knows.

The fog goes down.
The sun floats up.

The ravens crow.
The horse neighs.

And there those two benches sit.

twenty-three

Being twenty-three is not knowing who,
or what you want to be.
Being twenty-three is about working,
but instead wanting to climb a tree.

Being twenty-three can be lonely,
when nobody else knows.

Hey,
being twenty-three sounds a lot like being an adolescent.

And everybody knows,
the adolescent grows.

welcome

a page of creative writings and odd experiences.

a place to grow seeds into ideas.

a writer's notebook.

welcome to my world.