Monday, March 11, 2013

Old Mossy Steps


“Old mossy steps know lots of secrets.”
-Old Moss Woman's Secret Garden



The old mossy steps know lots of secrets. At their base is where my childhood pals and I met to plot treasure hunts and adventures. The bottom step was the starting point of many secret missions and the tall wall on the left is where I decided to try to fly, resulting in a spectacular fall into the the lower wall on the opposite side of the steps, and a dozen or so stitches in my chin.

Then it was the place of my first kiss. I still remember standing at the top of the steps looking out across the valley below as I held her hand and tried to work up the nerve to kiss her. She gave me a peck on the cheek, then I turned and looked at her a moment before leaning in and kissing her lips.

As a teenager I snuck off to the same mossy old steps to share deep talks with my girlfriend. We'd sit on the third step from the top and I would lean back against the taller wall while my girlfriend rested against me and we shared our most intimate fears and dreams.

But the middle step, staring at a patch of moss on the taller wall is where I told my biggest secrets. With no one listening but the moss and a few trees I would spill out my secrets and talk through my problems. That wall knew when I fought with my parents and what my girlfriend and I disagreed about. It knew when my childhood best friend and I stopped being best friends. It knew when I was depressed, when I was afraid to ask for help, and when I had big dreams I was too scared to hope would come true.

The old mossy steps know many secrets, and I'm sure they know more than just mine...



Photo and prompt found here.

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

A Last Dance


They were but strangers meeting,
shared a passing glance,
summoned courage to ask for a dance,
their smiles lighted as feet moved,
swinging through familiar tune,
eyes meeting with a longing glance,
only to part with the fading song,
their shared moment gone,
as the last dance ended.



Prompt: Write about a brief encounter.

Monday, January 28, 2013

Lost Words

Middle of the night thoughts,
tumbles of beautiful words,
laced together in a sleepy fog,
lost, gone by morning light.