where the writers are
Before the End of the Road


November 5





Before the end of the road tiny stone lay on the side, freshly painted lines glimmer in this twilight trance.  Walking the macadam, the crunch underfoot changes my perspective.  No steering wheel or accelerator, this is ankle express all the way.  Walking the road step by step, on my own, I am part of the soft and growing world progressing on a plan of separate integrity.  Moist, lush wonder is missed by the motor speedway I let rule my life.  Honeyed sweetness covers the vegetation swaying in the undulating airborne pulse.  I am tempted to lie down and have a roll, but my role tonight is to reach the end of the road.  When my goal is achieved I may choose a woodland life or an urban endeavor.  Seeing the end of this path is job enough for now.  Decisions anticipated prior to arrival are foolish diversions.  I need to stay, not stray, with the dancers in the wind.



Execute the detractors in your mind.



Let the Groundhog Sing It



Mistakes and poor choices save me

from attempting to climb out onto moral high ground.

Moral ambiguity keeps me protected

from the illusion of relentless righteousness.


Lopsided living is a fate I am spared

due to my flawed execution of perfection;

all in a day’s work for a functional human.

Left by the wayside is the fantasy that I am all right.