Paean to the Fire Woman

The world may solve its problems,

or not,

but nothing is stronger,

more powerful,

or more beautiful

than a woman

on fire.

It is her internal flame

that  makes everything around her

glow like fireflies.

She could take the setting sun

and lift it back into the sky

the way you pull a cookie

from a jar.

It is her bouncy, buoyant being

that makes the humdrum, workaday world

smile,

perhaps for the first time in

a very long time.

Her message is as clear as the water

and as plain  as the morning.

It is that of unconditional love.

And that is what makes the world beautiful.

The woman on fire could light up a galaxy

with her eternal flame of goodness.

And make men like me into

keepers of their magic.

                 

The Sound of a Quiet House

The cool, crisp weekday morning

when the children are off to school

and my husband is toiling away at work.

The windows have been cracked open

letting the sweet chill into my house.

There are no children squawking or screaming,

no television caterwauling endlessly on

about nothing in particular.

There is only the gentle breeze

rattling the trees outside

and the occasional chirping of birds.

The only other sound I can hear

is the sound of my peaceful, relaxed breathing.

It’s the sound of a quiet house.

The pastel yellow walls glow in the sunshine

and the ions they conceal sing in silence.

The cool morning air

kisses my skin and caresses my being.

And as I turn the pages of the book I have waited

all night long to continue reading,

my heart swells like a balloon.

This is a sound I am grateful for.

Before I know it, the children will be home

from school, and my husband home from work,

and the flapdoodle will begin anew.

This sound, of silence, of peace, of quiet,

is also a sound of renewal, of rejuvenation.

This is what heaven must sound like.

A quiet house.

Senses

Digging in my feet

into the soft, sweet, cool sand.

It’s the Fourth of July

on a semicrowded beach.

The senses that had been dulled

by the wretched workaday world

are alight and at peace.

Dusk pulls her blanket over the tiny town.

I can see for miles.

The lightshow begins.

Fireworks twinkle and pop

off to my left.

They dazzle the eye

and send jaws dropping

upon even the oldest of children.

Palm trees stand and sway

with the gentle Gulf breeze,

framing the fireworks.

To my right, a storm cloud

dawdles northward, away from us.

Lightning fights a losing yet fiery battle

for our attention.

Thunder thumps and rumbles dully.

In front of me,

the Gulf of Mexico, almost unnoticed,

laps calmly upon the sand.

I dip my ankles in the warm water.

Something about it relaxes me and loosens

my muscles.

The half-moon shines

in all her ethereal glory,

bathing us in the mysterious glow.

Soon she will shine her brightest

and bring out the best in us.

Nature almost always wins over man,

and usually by a wide margin.

Except when man wants to celebrate,

and Zeus surrenders, begrudgingly though he may.

And it’s a night like this, when

all of my senses are engaged,

that I feel the most alive.