Spices and Wind

Autumn is here.

I know, the Autumnal Equinox is still technically 2 days away…but, this happened today:

I was driving home, down 16th, which is a 40mph street, & had my window half open to catch the breeze, when this happy, little wanderer floated in and landed on the back of my hand.

I picked it up, & held it like a touchstone all the way home, reveling in the leathery feel of the leaf’s skin, the crisp, sharpened edges, the slightly cupped curl it created as it rested between my fingers.

I love fall…

I love the way the air feels like a lover’s caress on my skin, gentle & warm most of the time, but with the occasional swipe of a rough briskness.

I love how rich all the colors seem to get. The deep golds, the burnt oranges, the bloody reds, the almost-black purples. Even the crunchy brown after the leaves have fallen, & lie dead on the lawn, waiting for the rake to sweep them into piles for bagging. 

I love the smells that permeate the air, the sharp smell of burning fireplaces in the evening, the fresh earthy smell of wet dirt after it rains, and the air is cold enough to bite, so you have to bundle into a hoodie, the spicy scent of the fall’s leaves as I crunch through them when out on a walk. 
Those leaves remind me of my favorite flowers – carnations, & how they smell like spices & sex to me. Such an innocuous, and seemingly innocent little flower, so normal and unassuming, and yet they entice me to stick my nose deep into them, dragging the scent within my lungs from their lacy petals, so reminiscent of lingerie it almost seems indecent to have them just sitting out in the open where everyone can see. 

Next time you get around a bouquet of carnations…close your eyes, don’t look at their plain-jane faces…close your eyes & use your other senses. Get your nose up close, smell the sweet cloves, the spicy wash of something almost exotic, run your fingertips over the petals, feel the lace edges…and you’ll see what I mean. It can be a sensual rush.

And to me, carnations are such an Autumn type of flower because of that spiciness…reminding me of the leaves as they fling themselves from their trees. 

Wild little things with plain faces and beauty inside, if only you look… throwing themselves out into the world, searching for a place to land…

I Am Not… I Am…

I am not a hand-covered giggle…

I am a low, husky, evil-coated chuckle.

I am not a soft-petaled rose, dainty & fragrant.

I am a dandelion, feral, rugged, considered by some a weed, by some a flower, & by some just a pest. But I am nearly impossible to eradicate, have a zillion purposes & manage to find ways to pop up everywhere I want to, & some places that seem impossible. I am ninja that way.

I am not a 4-star restaurant, catering to the rich & famous, with French cuisine, linen napkins & tiny servings of impossible to pronounce foods.

I am a Mom&Pop diner, serving comfort food, barely making ends meet, serving meals to homeless folks on a picnic table out back when I get a free minute, because I can’t stand to see hungry faces.

I am not an average day at the beach. (ha-ask around, the laughter will tell you)

I am a slow wander through a darkened forest, with a very high chance of getting lost, because there is no path to follow. But then…there are all those interesting places to find, too…

I am not a light beer to be chugged, because you want to finally get to second base with that blonde…

I am that dark, smoky bourbon you’ve been dying to sip, slowly, decadently, all evening, next to the fire.

I am not a coy, flirtatious sidelong glance, eyes lowered quickly away…

I am the frank appraisal, genuine appreciation and eyebrow lifted. 

I am not water-cooler small talk, or office gossip.

I am the thoughtful pause before the insight.

I am not a young thing, any longer, but that does not preclude me from being vital.

I am deeper, richer, far more now than I ever was back then.

I contain multitudes, universes, infinities, within me now, that did not exist then.

I am so much more than I was…

You should see me now…..

But you won’t

Because you have your eyes closed.

Translate Me

There’s a code,

Written into the pieces of me

Mysterious and complex

It speaks in forms unknown

Turning this on, turning that off

Flipping genetic switches at seeming random

Lighting fires within, only to douse them later, with no explanation or apology

It’s a book, 50, 100, 1 million volumes thick, written in a language I cannot read

My own body and mind, a saga I cannot comprehend without another’s key.

“The Divine Mystery” some may call it, as they turn away from the puzzle to things they can digest. The depth and breadth of the conundrum too much for them to contemplate, they have no further wish to attempt the struggle.

But for me, I wish to delve deeper, to try to understand the whys and wherefores, the hows and whats of Me.

I seek, not only to understand for my own self, but to translate – to gain understanding, the internal “ah-hah!” from others. To see the light go on when they understand that I am the way I am because…THIS. And THAT. And THESE.

Logic and science dance seductively with emotion and faith, all swirling in their patterns together, intertwining in hypnotic rythmns, only to break violently & inexplicably from each other for no apparent reason. Then, quietly meeting again in the middle of the dance floor, to touch hands & make apologies, while agreeing to disagree.

Where does the dance begin? How does it end? And what is the meaning of that complicated bobble of steps in the middle? These are things I seek, words I reach for.

But first, I must decode my skin, my organs, my brain. I must Translate Me.

And that…might take a minute.

*written in response to the Daily Prompt*


I touch.

It’s one of the many ways I experience the world around me, and I have very sensitive fingertips. They transmit streams of data to my brain, constantly, telling me about smooth/rough, soft/firm, warm/cold, curved, straight, edged, sharp, dull, slimy, fuzzy, completely touchable, or never again.

I love sensuous fabrics- satin, suede, microfiber, fleece, oft-washed cotton, or high thread-count cotton. I love the way they feel when they glide across my skin, soft, smooth, pettable, as though I could wrap myself in it and float off on a cloud.

I am, what many would call, a “sensual person”. Not, necessarily in the sexual overtones most people use that phrase, but, in the fact that I use all of my senses to explore my world. 

Sight – colors, depth, symmetry, and that certain something that just appeals to my sight, makes an object, person, view, simply something that catches my breath, and makes me stare.  I stare at people I see in public, sometimes, simply because of the tone of their skin, or the depth in their eyes, the curve of their mouth as they smile, or the fall of their hair.  I feel awkward if they catch me, because I’m sure they think I’m some kind of weirdo, but, it’s just… something extraordinary… about them, that grabbed my attention. I’ve told people in the past “I’m an artist, and you have fabulous (insert cool thing about them here)”.

Smell. I revel in woodsy scents, warm smells, cedar, sandalwood, etc. Dark, inviting smells like musk; exciting and spicy smells, like cinnamon & cloves. That’s why carnations are my favorite flowers, they’re spicy and sweet, all at the same time, & when I smell them, I’m liable to just want to stick my nose in the bouquet & stay there. Pumpkin spice, apples & cinnamon. I love the “clean” scents, too, they’re invigorating & comforting. Line-dried laundry, smelling of sunshine & fresh air, and, yes, the smell of honest sweat can even be inviting. No, not the B.O. that happens after a really long, sweaty, rank day… But the fresh smell of hard work has never been a turn-off for me.

Sound. Drums. Oh. My. God. Drums. With a strong beat, I turn into a meditative zoned-out zombie. Drums can calm me down, or fire me up, depending on the tempo, rhythm and depth of the drum itself. Bass drums set my heart beating to whatever tempo they’re sending out… Thump. Thump. 

Taste.  Well, I’m a picky eater. But the things I like, I love to savor, indulge, linger over. Nuff said.

But- Touch.

That is my personal go-to.

Soft touch, rough over smooth, warm and steady, lingering, shaky, light, firm. I will often run my fingertips over my arms, just to reassure myself, to calm myself. 

Well, I’m too old to carry a blankie around, now, aren’t I?

I just wish there was more of it to go around.  



To me, anyway.



A world of only the compassionate, the hopeful, the thankful, the peaceful.

Striving together to achieve goals only dreamed of.

Competition – only for the sheer joy of testing your skills against another, to urge each other to greater heights. 

Scientific discovery – for the benefit of the whole planet, to make life longer, hope greater, love fuller.

Spirituality – fulfilling humanity’s fervent dream that there is a reason, a purpose for it all, coming together to worship, each in his own way, but sharing the common bond of Faith in Something.

Gratefulness – for the fullness of life, the abundance of riches, made available to all, out of the gratitude and compassion of a healthy, loving heart.

There can be joy in everyday things.  And with balance of heart, mind and soul, you find true serenity.  Imagine it – if we could attain this balance!  This hope!

Oh, to find this balance, even for a moment – this I think would truly be Nirvana – the Blessed Enlightenment of the Soul.

Imagine, moving beyond the grief, the pain, the rage.