still water. (i miss you so much)

As if
As if
I could reach you
As if
As if I could know you
could know that time in your life
Someone (I think) pushed me into the pool
Or I fell (did you) and the pool was deeper by twice than it was and I was in deep
And I thought of you
And I thought this could be bad
But it isn’t . it is beautiful and I won’t miss a bit of it
And I will rise to the surface
Like you and I will feel the blue sweet water all around
Knowing
the distance between me and air is not too long not at all
And as I near it
I trouble
the surface and
it is fantastic to see how my arm’s movement
moves, dances the light on the surface
but it takes too long
just a bit too long and
I
Feel and then know and
then know the surface
is perhaps seconds too far and
Beauty doesn’t matter and
all I thought would happen is wrong
and
I will drown here
like you
with you - as ever I was

not to surface
again.








(we miss you so.
it's all still beautiful.
but so changed.. )

i love my job(s)(s)(s)

even though how I feel trying to blog at this point in the day might be a good reason NOT to like my job (i feel i have about as much to offer as a cold bowl of wheathearts), it's simply a sweet, non-corporate, non-violent, encouraging, funny, winning occupation and I feel privileged: especially looking at art, talking about it with some for whom it's their very first exposure, first impression, first analysis. wish i could take them all to Italy.

how many of them at this point... 80 - 90? ugh. no wonder i'm cream of wheat. but i love it. love their lingering bits of innocence and very individual quirkiness and their already very potent personality strengths. i wish i could write quotes I've heard them say this last week, especially. or describe individual faces or mannerisms. (especially little Melinda's sosweet smile) but I won't do that. (nor will I forget).

i don't look forward to saying goodbye.