.

Blue air and clouds calling for,

swinging limbs,

rhythmic lungs; albeit noisy older ones.

Dripping sweat 

and a brain slowed to mere systems check.

Sports chew wrapped in wax paper 

assuming role of proverbial carrot.  

Must wait, must wait.

Just one more mile marker,

then dig it out of soggy sports bra pocket without looking weird,

hopefully.

Freedom, torture, joy, blessing.

Aloneness under Siren Sky.

Aloneness 

most gruelingly refreshing.

Skill not required, just endurance.

and
mothers are made of endurance;

But
by definition, not aloneness.

Except,

 the penalty box of injury, 

 turns each blue clear day into a siren wail of enticement,

singing low and sweet, "Lost miles, come and play, 

you were only 22 on that facebook real-age survey anyway." 

Mock my infirmity, oh Siren Sky. 

Promise the world, promise toughness and oxygen, promise sharpness,

 but in reality you offer only

further boots of ortho-shame.






.

My garlic tips its cap to you.

Horton will be by shortly

to listen for Whoses.





.

Early-thirty one morning I was answering an email from the director of my senior daughter's high school tutorial. They needed to finish a powerpoint presentation that was to run on a large screen during the reception after graduation exercises.  Two of the questions were:

 Our daughter is taking a gap year (a year in which one recovers from burn-out, makes some money, and assesses the color of one's parachute) and is trying to figure out what direction her life will take, so the verse and blessing that came immediately to mind was from Proverbs- the verse about trusting in the Lord and how he will direct your path....  So I glibly typed in Proverbs 5:6.  

"Or is it Proverbs 5:4-6," I wondered?  "Hmm.  I think Proverbs 5:6-7."

I was in a hurry.  I was already way late responding to the questions because having to be thoughtful in a public way terrifies me.  I'm not sentimental; I fail entirely at "making memories" and had already answered the school's query of, "Would you like space at the reception to make a memory display for you daughter?" with a thoughtless return email of, "Just shoot me now."

Being thought a good mom of daughters sometimes feels as though it hinges on being able to design gee-haws and tie hair bows-  both of which I've never mastered.  Only at the last moment, right before I pressed send I reflected on how incredibly sleep deprived I was and how that sleep loss is known to impede memory.  

So I double checked Proverbs 5:6 and its surroundings.  Too bad I did.  In large letters on the screen at the reception people could have looked upon a cute photo of my daughter's 2 year old self, dimpling a smile while dressed with an apron configured as a cape, accompanied by the following caption:  (according to the NIV):