Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Who is He?

Tuesday, February 26, 2008
He ~ the man I love. An explosion of the most frightening magnificence. Il est fort ~ and how this understates the incredible and breathtaking strength He possesses. And yet, despite His monumental strength, so many times I see the tender, sweet and contrite child in Him. With swells for eyes, and a trembling lip. The tears flow so readily and so instantly when sorrow or contrition reach in and stroke His spirit. A living, breathing, perplexing contradiction. And ... how I love Him. With every fibre of my heart and spirit. And every cell of my physical body. His beauty surrounds me. It bleeds into my soul and my psyche. I feel pretty, sexy, desireable in his presence ... and His presences envelopes and soothes me even in His physical absence. He. Me. We.

What more do I say?


Thursday, February 21, 2008

new beginnings

Thursday, February 21, 2008
a new blog is forming.

tales of a radioactive hummingbird

for reasons you need not know, i am going anonymous for a time. those of you who know my real email address (ie the one with my name in it) continue to email me there. and of course, those of you who have received snail mail from me, please do write me back sometime ... when you get a moment of two.

there are only two entries at the new blog. and no pics yet. i will get to post some pics soon ... i have lately been elsewise distracted.

love to you all ... please follow me to the new place.

the red mantissa


Monday, February 18, 2008

Making Love

Monday, February 18, 2008
~ intensely passionate ~
fills me, warms me, moves me,
exerts its soul upon me ... propels me.

In the still and silent hours of the night
we made love.
its an explosion of spirits, our spirits.

And in the aftermath,
we piece the exploded shreds
of our spirits back together.
Each of us, then, possesses a piece of the other.

How breathtaking.


Sunday, February 17, 2008

The Presence of Absence

Sunday, February 17, 2008
Absence has a presence ~
vulgar, garrish and violent,
like a single drop
of red rubra blood
in a bowl of thick, white milk.

Odour has a sound ~
it begins with a crescendo
and slowly fades, seeping
into the cold and heavy embrace
of the omnipotent and omnipresent


Monday, February 11, 2008


Monday, February 11, 2008
Last night we listened to Norah Jones. When the song Sunrise began playing the Pilot told me that's the song which got him onto Norah Jones. And then, and then, this morning we witnessed the most breathtaking sunrise. The sun crept up in the eastern sky, behind a bank of bare trees, looking like a fiery, pink orb. So pretty, that pink orb, I could have licked it if it had been wrapped in plastic or planted on the end of a lollipop stick. Sunrise. What a lovely beginning.

In our western viewpoint, we can see the lagoon, the sand shingle and the great waters of the English Channel. Sometimes, when the wind blows just so, one can hear the waves smashing and crashing and thrashing against the shores. The Channel waters, they seem so ferocious, that sometimes ~ particularly at night ~ the flow of the tide sounds like a distant, rolling thunder.

What a lovely spot we fiound ourselves upon, as we rose early this morning: sandwiched between the pink glowing orb rising quietly in the sky, and the ferocious green waters of the English Channel. A bird of prey hovering, overhead ... and the sound of birdsongs dancing in the frostly morning air.

Oh ... la bella vita.