Domsli22

If they don’t need you, it’s okay. You do not live for other people.

@esteejanssens

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A Journey, New Home

In front of me are two steps.

Once taken, two more appear.

Will there ever be

more than two

visible at one time?

Behind me is one step.

On a road I already walked.

Will that step

be any different

if I took it now?

I know what I already walked.

I can strain to see what I have yet to traverse.

Is it better to retreat to the known

when I see one step further

in the unexplored?

Forever Writng

quill rose

River Flows in You

Bare feet slip through mossy banks

On the other side of a bubbling creek, filled with watercress,

Is a deep path

Leading to a breathtaking waterfall.

“This way,” a teacher says,

Shoving a fistful of fresh-plucked watercress into his mouth.

Students and staff follow, in order of their eagerness

The sharp snap of the plant dances on every tongue.

Hidden and rocky though the path may be,

Treasures await the fresh-faced explorers

A waterfall spills into the creek, misting the group,

As they all file into a hidden cavern behind the rushing waters.

Teachers don’t lecture the students as they fill their cupped palms and stick their little feet in,

Most never having felt such overwhelming, refreshing freedom in their short lives

Staff watches as happiness spreads across usually bleak faces,

Knowing they’re creating core memories for themselves and their students.

When I mutter, “I wish I was a waterfall, strong and powerful and cool,”

It is Mr. A who turns to me to teach the most valuable of all lessons this day

He never lies, and with the intelligence of a middle-aged man from the middle-east, replies:

“But you are, that energy flows through you, too.”

Forever Writing,

quill rose

froqueen_

The Way Smell Evokes Memory

            On a hot summer afternoon, after a day of playing in the sun but before retiring to play video games, my mother would always shower. She loved spending time with us on those rare free days when all five of her girls were home, and she wasn’t working one of many jobs she held down simultaneously to provide. Our job was to set the living room up, since she didn’t understand and wasn’t willing to learn how to work the equipment. She would emerge in a puff of steam and a waft of perfume. Unwilling to wear shorts outside, those days she was even willing to don a light summer nightdress. We each peeled off at different times in the night, smart enough and independent enough to dictate our own bedtimes. With a yawn, I’d announce my departure. My mother was never short on hugs, pulling me in and holding me, understanding of the importance of that contact. Rich vanilla and rose and a creamy, heavy shea butter: the last things I’d smell for the night.

            When riffling through the cabinet before moving out, I discovered the exact lotion she would use. Her ‘yes’ when I asked to take it was distracted, unaware of the significance. Although, I don’t use it much.

The amazing digital art of Anato Finnstark