What a wonderful place to be tried and focused. To see those things in cupboards, garage and kitchen that fester or foster growth and imagination. Such splendid array of troublesome works. Finding everything so attractive until bought, bartered or clutched. Aspiration, generation, imagination all so nonchalant, dangerous and refining, in the fires, caldrons and chemical reactions when put in contact with life or the misery and longing for release from limitations.

How promising the ideas in our heads when we first set upon the road of immaculate conceptions. Everything so pure and perfect till tried and tested in the bare knuckle brawling of the climb to mountain’s top. Wavering yet never ready to simply step away from the caustic, charismatic or promising. Locks picked, gasps given at horizons without end and sweet, sorrowful ballads in measured delivery when hearts, broken fail to find the luster.

It’s skylines, caverns, shallows, swallows and vales, scented of lilac, palm and pine. Refining by nature, especially when drawn or cornered into stints of loneliness, longing or prideful stand for reasons unknown or inexplicable. Searching for the promises of a first kiss, scent memories or the inkling of something rarely discovered. Matching day dream and dalliance we fall, reluctantly knowing in advance that the challenge brings the mastery.

Nothing sure but more often the same though something else beckons. Washed clean in the winds, erosion and pressures of the forgery. Made new when clinging to familiar. Hoping for the ready, steady and knowable yet realizing the promise of wisdom, passion and experience. No heart is changed by simplicity, but in difficulty and disappointed reason sponsors gifting. Learning to love in a way that we have never chosen, crafted or pursued.

What dance in pants too long for whirling? What dreams without the moral character of man or woman born to something good? Do the guilty lose their regret and displeasure replacing the hard, cold and callous sense of defeat for the things they just cant muster? Into the abyss we wander senseless, tempting the edge and prancing foolish against the overwhelming clutch of gravity and utter destruction. Only to step back with a gasp, flustered and excited by the moment of life’s testing.

Looking past the clouds, darkness and even the blinding sun, knowing something beyond the veil of my existence. What purple or pink blossoms are found the other side of midnight? What light reveals but the shadows and episodic blackness of our damaged journey. Surrendered to be replenished in the graceful fall of yonder ripples. Face down in mud or frozen splendor, rising to the joy and shame of challenged doubt. Paralysis broken by shear unplanned action.

Knowing that whether thrashing worry and defeat be breakfast, the salty dogs of afternoon shall follow. Leaving beside the roadside always humbling, gravely and arduous intent or hopeful wishing the smooth chaser of silky, solemn indifference and polite consideration. These are the days of becoming for which they prepared me. Not easy, never boring or contrite, but something akin to the Earth so deep for planting or foundation. Erected in error to the sun or fortified to withstand the driving rain and winter’s chill.