Phobia 2

She didn’t seem to grasp the concept of a phobia
I shook my head in agreement and laughed
I know when I told her I clipped out on hills
Because I have a hill phobia
She asked me what I feared most
Stalling and falling I’d said
She told me all the reasons that wouldn’t happen
And why I should clip in and push and pull
While she stood while not moving at all
On a hill clipped in and standing and talking
Which left me annoyed while still afraid
My hill phobia and height fear can’t be
Persuaded away by rational argument
They’d be long gone since I’d have
Dissuaded myself from my foolishness
And I’d have stood on top of that dome
Luxuriating in the breathtaking 360 view

Puffiest

Can we sleep out here tonight?
Under this puffiest white tree
Lightest sweet fragrance filling
The air and my head with peace

I’ll hang our hammock snug below
As the fluttering white snow petals
Softly blanket our silent souls
Delicious scent sleep surrender

Did I mention I’m levelheaded?

Here’s a tip: Trying a new salmon recipe when you know you might have to stop for work in the middle of the prep isn’t the best idea. I’m mostly glad my sisters weren’t here because they’re not fans of raging infernos. Not that I am. Somehow, in retrospect, the olive oil based rub seems like overkill on the already oily fish. My normal Sunday night procedure “put the fish on the grill and prep the rest of the meal” was interrupted by good news about work (YAY!). 10 minutes later the work was finished. It was just a short distraction. And the grill was engulfed in flames. Completely. The temperature gauge on the grill cover was at the max. I don’t know what the number was. Hot. Really, really hot. I sort of calmly reached into the grill cabinet and turned off the gas valve. The flames continued to leap. I called into the house for help. A fire extinguisher. Moral support. Why not pull the black lumps of what had been 2 salmon filets and were now fireballs off the grill? OK…I can do that. The fire’s fuel sources were being eliminated one by one. There were still shooting flames. Like an ocean oil slick the drip pan continued to burn. The fire still raged. Until it died. Finally. Thankfully. I’m grateful to Mr. Weber for making a grill that didn’t explode or set the deck on fire. The avocado salsa was pretty good without any salmon to put under it, by the way.

Possibly

I have to write a poem so I can’t come to bed yet
But I thought I’d get in and cuddle for a bit
That should surely inspire you she says
Possibly is my instant deadpan reply
Spontaneous laughter spills from us
That may be your best poem ever
We’ll see how inspired I am
More laughter then silence
And silent cuddling
And sweet kisses
Good night
My love
Poem

Morning Still

The morning light never broke
Thick fog hovered deep above
Smooth still lake as the boat
Slid silently cutting the still

Standing in the rolling mist
The lone lonely man gently
Tossed his thin rod flipping
The line aloft far out of sight

The distant muffled splash of
The float breaking the glassy
Surface the only sound in the
Standing still quiet morning calm

Lost Time Hello

Wait for me on the corner my love
The walk is long but with each breath
Every step I’m closer to your touch hello

I make my way remembering your hello
The first night I knocked before our love
Was born our wary glances nervous breath

I quicken my pace my heart rate my breath
All faster as I rush for your sweet smile hello
Last turn maddening crowd searching love

All this time now just breath hello my love

King of the House

He’s the king of the house
But a patsy outside when
She’s lurking he cowers and
Shrinks dodging pounces
And the screams of attack
Of her clawless friendship
He undoubtedly forgets his
Could cut or slice when
She rolls him twice down
The hill by the pool deck
Defensive is his favorite
Position the second she
Arrives on the other side
Of the door enthusiasm
(or love)
Carries him into the fight
We call her The Interloper