Most Mondays but not today

Death Of A Dream.

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CHANGE. YOUR. WORLD.

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I found that the waves were literally crashing around me. One moment I’m freely snapping pictures, the next, I’m lounging in brown sugar sand. The sun was there to gently bake my skin, the sandpipers scurried to and fro. I scratched a flower on the sand; then a peace sign. I wrote a message first small, then larger in the sand and waited and watched the beachcombers reaction as they passed. But no one saw it, so I enlarged it to an entire area where all could see, far and away. And as I was about to return to my lounging, I secured my camera, and smiled. What a clever message I thought proudly. So peacefully profound was I as I sat again in the soft brown sugar sand. And as quick as flash, without a warning, without a sound, a wave knocked me flat. I rushed to stop myself from failing about, my hands
searching my camera bag to save my phone and my Nikon. Laughter took hold and I began an uncontrollable bought of it, loudly, and uninhibited. I felt like a girl again; an awakening of pureness I saw seldom anymore. The message in the sand barely visible now seemed to have been my message only. A valuable appropriately written message no one but me was to read. A wave of this tide had brought me home again, my laughter still I hear. Light as air.

no title

I’m not going to write today,

the words just will not come.

my thoughts are in the washer,

emotions on the line,

and my feelings and their writings

are just too hard to find.

ronda marie guercio

2015

A familiar foreign feeling : Family

Rich. The presence of my brother and his wife surrounding my son and I is rich. It saved us and although I recoil at times, I, in my starved state of solitude, have been trying to connect again. It’s a foreign familiarity. Family. How I’d dreampt of this so often, never believing it could be true. Any distance now would be upon me, because I see the earnest struggle in their efforts to welcome us into their home. Having been homeless and displaced for eight months now, my teenage son and I found we could no longer survive without them. The generous, and what I sadly had misconceived as an empty, dutiful offer, is now the actual table where I sit this morning, slowly, and with a hint of lingering sadness sip this dark rich coffee. The very sadness that has strangled my self confidence now steeps and slowly seeps away, mocking me like these grackles outside. Their annoying laughterous crowing teases me, taunts me, telling me you’ll never make it. Yet I see myself surrounded by beauty, generosity, sacrifice, and compassion. Memories of our childhood bounce throughout the room, laughter booms and resonates in my unreasonable reasoning. Am I home? I miss my first born more than I can bear. My granddaughter now 1600 miles away appears in my imagination. I squint and sigh as I rub the sleepy confusion away, and slowly sip my coffee now lukewarm in foreign familiarity.