Lying next to her with my hand resting on her small side, I can feel every breath. She is pressed tight against me, confident in her security. As I brush the hair away from her face, I see that her eyes are closed, and she is finally asleep. I see the dim light on her small cheek as she sleeps. She holds a soft cloth she calls fuvie between her index and middle finger and unconsciously moves her fingers to feel the silk like material. My senses are filled with each aspect of her peaceful sleep. I softly whisper ‘I love you’. As I gently slip out of her bed, her still wet thumb brushes across my forehead and she rolls on to her back. As the nightlight illuminates her face, her small lips smack and she plunges her thumb back in between them. She has her mom’s beauty. A soft, subtle beauty that I am sure exists solely to melt my heart. She is three, and for now she is daddy’s girl. As I softly slip in to the kitchen from her room, I hear a small foot step behind me. I turn and see my sweet daughter standing behind me holding fuvie, sucking her thumb in a cupcake printed nightgown. She inhales a slow deep breath and bellows. I HAVE TO GO TO THE POOOTTTTTTTTYYYYYYY DAD.
Monday, August 30, 2010
You would assume that in a logical order of things that I would make this next post about my beautiful, caring, giving, loving wife whom I love with all of my heart and is in fact my soul mate. But this morning as I was riding my motorcycle to work, I rode in and out of strange envelops of fog and mist that was eerie, and yet had some mystic beauty about it. I see how you may still be thinking this could be about my lovely wife, but I am sure if I were to include eerie in any writing about her I may not live to post again. So before I totally forget about this strange fog, I was riding on the Interstate under this soft blanket of fog and mist that was Maybe 20 or 30 feet above me. It was still dark, no sign of sunlight from the east yet. The street lights at the exit ramps reflected off the fog as if it were some sort of faded mirror. Big eight-teen wheeled trucks disturbed the peace of the blanket just enough to leave a soft ripple in their wake. As the road followed the gently rolling hills up and down, I would ride in and out of the blanket. I could see it approaching as the road climbed up to its level and then gently I would be introduced into the softness of it. Then I’d ride awhile thru the damp, cool mist. And as the road descended I would ride out of the soft blanket and again be covered by the soft reflections of street lights. It was quite strange and surreal. Something one could never fully grasp or experience in a car.
Friday, August 27, 2010
So, here I am; writing a ‘cyber journal’, as it were. In some feeble attempt to preserve mans mortality; forever in cyberspace. Using this method otherwise known as blogging. In the past, in order to have something that you as a person penned, be available to the general public; you had to be an author. For those unfamiliar with this strange being, it was usually a person who wrote with some form and substance about something interesting that people may want to read, or learn about. Or, someone who wrote of fictional things that held enough matter for people to want to read it anyway. Even though they knew it was fictional. Now, thanks to the internet, any of us who care to, can pour our very souls out the world and if they (the world) know where to look; they can take a microscopic look in to our very beings. The reality of life is posted every day by millions of internet users and now…I intend to join the masses and put forth my soul for the world to scrutinize. So, after all that wind, I am certain you will be logging out never to return to this soon to be deranged corner of the internet; As I am about to embark on Blogging.