The Final Lee

Now for the truth.

Does the almost kiss bring peace?
Do words of longing ascend the spirit from which they are loaned?
And do not the emotions of good intentions limit the amount of light visible from our own front door?

Today's dawn tangled me whole in light-soaked sheets.

Before drowning, I swam to Sunday's lighthouse and threw myself upon her rocks.

And finally – the final lee – joy and peace.


The paths are cut off.

Our hand-drawn maps rendered useless.

And so I kicked dirt kicked over the embers before heading towards the river.


Where else would home be?

I spent the whole day in the room of windows, stretching into the fascia of solitude, sifting decisions. A recalibration was birthed from a bohemian beauty that words refused to scratch, despite the effort of ravenous claws. What tender bravery and courage rising to claim I AM!

Shadows and clouds came and went. West off the lakeshore; east to the sea. But at every moment, I remained.

Love in the reflection of the river.

I see myself now, bending over the water in gratitude for what has been encompassed on the way – a retried pilgrim safe in the cloister she never left.

This is the truth, brothers and sisters: we are all done here.