Rainbow Rivers Lament

Tranquil skies. They’re starting to return. Cumulus clouds float by gently reminding us of a more peaceful time. We’re lucky. I think. We’re still standing.

Tattered lives. Shredded clothes. Walking the earth putting things back together, so slowly, so carefully. A new path? It seems promising, different anyway.

Broken clay pots strewn in a corner.

Train whistles wail, slowly disappearing into the night. The long slow note of a saxophone.

Appalachian trails. Never ending.

Lots of people trying to make everything normal now, like nothing ever happened.

Looking good sitting there at that restaurant, smiling, laughing, but still feeling unsure inside.

Heavy maybe?

Not tortured, but contemplative. Keeping a brave face on mental and spiritual wounds.

It’s okay not to be okay, but you already know that, right?

She walked slowly into the shadows never to return, that old image of who she was. You don’t want her back, not the way she was.

I’m different now. I'm feeling like that’s not all there is.

Is that all there is?

Let's seek out a new direction, open that new door.