grey skies met me as i opened the front door. stepping outside, closing the door and inhaling with a deep breath. the morning mist cooled my lungs.
the rain was light and it hung in the air. my first steps felt smooth and soon i found a comfortable pace. birds announced the morning. the trees were home to the concerto of shrill cries and tweets.
my head felt clear and i couldn't help but smile as i took a left turn off the road and onto a side path. the path was made up of bridges, mini bridges. about 10 feet long, about 1 foot wide, a few 2x6's side by side. my pace slowed as i made my way across 2,3,4,8 mini bridges.
beneath the bridges, waiting for a wayward step is mud, glossy with rainbow sludge. huge green fern leaves look like hands reaching up, hoping to catch breakfast and welcome it into their garden.
off the bridges and back on the damp trail, dodging slippery roots, landing softly on the balls of my feet. low hanging branches, leafless and skinny, tree fingers, are bobbed and weaved around.
coming out from the trees, across the road and back onto the path. the birds still singing my praises. a few longer strides get me safely over the railroad tracks. even with the constant reminder of bird calls, the morning is mine and only mine. everything that happens fuels me.
my legs begin to feel a bit of a burn. starting right above my knees and slowly making its way up my quads. steady my breathing, deep breath in. the mind more at ease. i am not the body, i am the soul.
turning a corner. a rabbit jumps out of the way, zigging, zagging, bobbing white tail acts as a beacon, allowing me to track it, picking its way through the brush.
my stride begins to lengthen and i begin to hit a good rhythm. back onto pavement, bike path offers me safety. just a few moments later i get a clear view of a pond. the tree sanctuary, half grown, mangled by beavers and storms.
the figures of the trees appear dark, moisture painting them black. the water is still, but ripples are able to occasionally find their way towards the edge. a heron, blue and grey, powerfully wings into view and then glides across the brown water. quickly it came, quickly it was gone.
i continue to pump my legs, moving me forward with an ease that surprises me and my legs. the breaths still come easy and the quiet flame in my legs reminds me i'm here, now. embrace the feeling, you are alive and well.
after finding my turnaround spot, i begin the glide back. i switch my eyes to the opposite side of the path. an easy, rolling view of hills, up and down, alive with grasses and bushes.
the feeling of lightness is still flowing through me, but i can sense a bit of a lag. i smile.

it's funny. 3 years later and i find myself staring out the same window. the same trees, same lawn, same road, digging for new inspiration. the screens on the window slightly distort everything on the outside. the crispness of the world blurred by wire mesh.
starting at the sky, the faraway blue, found only when no clouds can be spotted. the distance created by such a clear sky allows the trees to appear stronger, straighter. shadows lie about, imaginary tree footprints, amoeba like in shape.
a slight breeze winds its way through the leaves and they respond by dancing on the branches. rustling, shaking back and forth.
the branches stretch upward, always reaching for more light, jockeying for position amongst other sun-hungry limbs.
green grass, green leaves, green air. the darker greens lie about in the shadows, representing cool and comfortable. the leaves brighter in color, in direct sunlight, reflect nourishment and appear golden green.
rising above shorter trees, a fir tree presents its coat, a reminder of winter and warmth.


spotlight reversed, pointing out the dark spots
swaying, but gently blending
exhales move earth.
green mirrors show no self-reflection.
suspended field of green.
slanted branches create non-symmetrical
smiles, crooked, lips sealed.

doors shiny with carbonated focus.
youkilis lands at second with a double.
carpet brown rug rolls its tongue to
greet you, protect your soles.
you've lost champion status.
white floor piece surrounded, pull the pin.
two for one special.

flat black rose bushes.
times thought back on, just short of
reminiscent.
flat black smiles
seen, but undistinguished
lit only by the lost idea of a kiss.
returned to life's rolling chair, stable when
your feet are planted, firmly grounded.
spinning in all the wrong directions, unchecked
with lifted feet and attempted control.
the rain won't come, even with the sun
on strike and the moon, it's scab, only
big as the marble shooter.
flat black rose bushes.
petals never rotten, odor wades among
thorns, ducking in and through.
smells like it could be forever.

shadows can't capture heartbeats.
they find life in movement, but
be still and they fade.
a figure remains, a cutout of sorts.
not to be bent nor broken.
showing your outside. a hollow
look at you.
judge this book by its cover.
the cover tells the story of
trouble unseen.
open the shadow and greet
what's beneath.

rock, stone, cement, wood.
elements designed as ours, but not owned.
structures harness power and release importance.
signs indicate direction but fail to provide a path as
rivers discover bends and curves.
water will show patience.
trunks feign support while
limbs breathe confidence to leaves, leaves to us.
breezes fail to take breath away,
simply emulate earths sighs, disappointment
in day to day, joy of storms of grey and wet.
fly below it as sun follows time and round earth resigns itself
to orbit.
creatures great and greater slide
as if forgiven, though sins need no atonement.
days of hours complete a simple
cycle, often recognized.
let the leaves fall, the white blankets will come and find themselves gone before long.
but never owned.

sun melts, oozing itself orange
across the tree tops.
warmth fades and finds comfort
under blankets and above our heads.
blinking stars make their way
across the sky, shooting airplanes.
the days last moments are spent
stuck in time.
stillness made more prevalent by movement
nature's mastery of contrast.
time better spent forgetting than remembering.
sun melts, evening finds its colors,
black.

"so you guys are graduating this year?"

those words still ring, resound in my head. we were graduating that year, and did graduate. eric didn't. his dad, trying to make conversation, probably telling himself he was trying to make us feel a little more comfortable. in actuality, just trying to take his mind off the events that had occured.

what made your pain so bad? why did it hurt the way it did? would you take it back, if you could do it again?

i can still hear the first shovelful of dirt hit the coffin. it slid from the shovel, the dirt unaware, blissfully unaware, of what it was burying, sealing off from sunlight, air, life. forever. each shovelful further drove the point home. the distinct slide and scratch that is heard each time the edge of a shovel is dug into slightly damp dirt. pulling it from the pile, tiny rocks spill from the tall sides, jumping from the shovel, not ready to bury a 17 year old. the edge of the shovel starts to tip and the soil spills over. if only gravity skipped a beat, postponed this moment, allowed everyone one more second, if only. but it didn't and the dirt hit against the wood. a quick shower before the rest found its way in, the thud it made on contact. and then another shovelful dropped. another, another.

helpless, hopeless. the feeling will never go away. grief allows one to remember how little everything matters in the big picture. the day to day annoyances. traffic jams, copier james. work stress, family stress. think how much you would take if he could be brought back. trivial, quite, i know.

for a long time i hated you for what you did. the easy way out. you didn't have to deal with it anymore. each day didn't present questions, more thoughts of uncertainty, attempting to find your "why".

looking around where you are now, spending everyday, this plot wasn't meant for you. a man who lived through world war I, the roaring 20's, prohibition, the depression, world war II, the holocaust, the civil rights movement, vietname, korea, that's a lot. even a 20 year old, kerry. you spend everyday surrounded by people you should have lived at least as long as.

thank you for listening and giving me your ear. you deserve to be happy, wherever you are now. the pain you felt, the pain everyone has felt since, is not ever to be forgotten. you, to me, remain a constant reminder that life is not ever how we planned it, for better of for worse. love life, however. love it because it is all you have.