Give me your Heart

The worst part about being fifty-two is that my body takes it's sweet time healing.  My brain still thinks in teenager time frames so I am annoyed.  In my head, I think my toe should be healed, happy and ready to ride but the reality is that I'm sitting on the couch waiting, waiting, waiting. 

Poor Brett, he had to get up at 4:00 this morning to do the chores before leaving for work.  I felt guilty staying in bed until 6:30 and then doing nothing more strenuous than closing the windows in the house and turning on the espresso machine.

Record heat and monsoon afternoons continue.  Highs have been bumping against the 100F mark with humidity above 50%.  Around 2:00 storm clouds blow in from the desert and we hear thunder.  Saturday we even had some light rain which brought the temperature down to 85F.  I sat outside on the porch and drank in the wet garden smells and the sound of the raindrops spattering on the parched plants. 

I've been writing a lot of poetry as I sit idle on the couch.  I'm sure this would be easier if I were a TV or movie person, but I'm not.  Here's a short piece I wrote about Starman and Auke.  The title is a reference to the form of the poem, not the content.  This form, the sevenling, requires that there be no formal title.  rules, rules.

Sevenling (Starman)

Starman had short stumpy legs,

arthritis in his hooves, and a frizzy red mane.

My Friesian had long black legs,

a flowing mane, and flashing hooves.

Starman gave me his heart;  I sold the Friesian.