Today, a small reprieve from parenting\u2014
though that word never quite fits.
You are always a parent,
even in absence, even in silence,
even when distance stretches into something permanent.
That thread does not break.
It only softens, hums quietly beneath everything.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Still, you learn to lean away, sometimes\u2014
to step, gently, into yourself again.
Into creation. Into breath.
Tonight, I lean into poetry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I love the licking flames,
their crackle\u2014like lips smacking in hunger,
the wood burning bright with eager heat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I love the cat, settled on my lap,
mottled, soft, coiled in quiet listening
to the language of fire.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I love the room\u2014four walls and an antechamber,
lanterns of colored glass, a Turkish rug,
two guitars resting, three chairs waiting, a simple jug.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I love the warmth, loosening muscle from bone,
pulling cold from its stubborn corners,
drawing silence out of stillness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I love the man, bent over his phone,
Wordling, absent and present at once,
feeding the fire with instinctive hands,
reading Sam Neill in between.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I love the night garden beyond\u2014
touched here and there with yellow light,
a leaf, a stubborn bloom, something watching back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I love the cushions, spread wall to wall,
an open invitation to fall,
to stretch out fully, to finally stop.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And I love the children on the walls\u2014
forever smiling\u2026<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"