Better than Sleep

* salsa dancing to Beyonce
* watching from afar while lovers throw flower into a pond
* praying I don’t get poison oak while I act like cupid
* cutting up the rug
* Mozzarella, tomato, basil and balsamic vinegar
* Reviving old inside jokes (WM)
* Kitchen conversations containing enthusiastic head nods, hand waves
* Growing pains (when I was about 12 years old I would get these pains just above my knees. They were dull aches in a place I could not stretch or massage; I could only try to breath into them. My mom called them growing pains. As I sat on the couch observing the transition of life; people my age were no longer the flower girls or ring bearers, but the best man, the maid of honor and even the bride and groom. My heart felt stretched and achey. Something that could be described as growing pains).
* My heart is a balloon that has so much to give. It tried to explode in my chest as I sat on cement stair in the backyard looking into the cloudy, dark night sky full of crisp night air. I sang, sang out loud as she strummed and hummed melodies to the Lord, the creator of heaven and earth.
* My heart is a balloon that desires to swallow the world whole. It tried to inhale the scene from Coolidge Drive: the town full of little buildings and big trees, that foreign blue substance: the bay blending with the sky.
* Waking up early for coffee banter and joining the waking routines of friendly old faces.
* Driving over the 17: the green of the forest filling my eyes, tales of Malawi filling my ears; both let me know hope is everywhere.
* Sourdough pancakes and bites of Mike’s Mess.
* Smelling the redwoods
* Each word and hug from each friend I have not seen in so long.
* Getting addicted to a new book.