tender

tender and lost and breathing with it over a glass of scotch and these keys, not sure where i am headed but hoping the rain lets up soon so i can get back to feet on the ground green soil absorption. life's simple out there. or maybe it's not and, like a child, i am new to the garden game. can i keep that simple? for myself? it's important, probably, to have something simple in my life.

wish i had a photograph to share of this stunning fog secret that i live in today. i would show you the things that are weighing on me as gold:
how i am perceived
my ability as a teacher
the (un?)willingness to be inspired
fear of being too transparent, anywhere
loneliness
grief
eyes growing old
a good book, but too lonely for this lonely kate today, read through anyways, leaving me, well, lonely
age

wish i had a photograph of home to show you now, home drenched in rain, dark soil, leaves weeping, grateful. i would show you my hopes:
a phone call just when i really, really needed her to call
rereading my self
the feel of his fur as it dries
my silly glass
writing

part of me wishes there was a cure to loneliness, this deep, forever aching kind. we'd probably have to trade something huge and immeasurable for that, though. isn't that how the story goes.

k.