storm indigo, kind of blue

You are as blue as this name would indicate.  Indigo, the deepest blue, the black of blues.  A storm of the blackest blues.  Sad and lonely, vulnerable and alone.  

This kind of blue sneaks up on you.  It's not like you enter a room knowing this particular tempest awaits.  No one would do so knowing her wily ways.  No.  This kind of blue is seductive.  She starts out as the most faint hue of blue,barely a whisper.  It's overlooked, thought to be a lack of sleep or a busy schedule.  As she becomes baby blue, though you see her, she's thought to be just a momentary glitch.  After you get some rest this weekend and eat better, you'll be as good as new. 

She chuckles at your hubris.  She is amused, wondering how long it will take for you to realize her beautiful depths, how long before you realize who's in charge.  As she turns to a brilliant blue, you still won't acknowledge that you are beginning to lose the race.  Though you are wondering if you still have a prescription.  By now she's wrapped herself around your chest. 

You awaken to find that you have neither the strength nor the desire to get out of bed.  You realize that the whisper of blue has become a prussian toned system limiting your visibility and scattering everything you worked hard to plant. Powerless, you just lay in bed wondering how you got there.  How did you get so weak?  When did she get so strong?

And after many weeks, maybe today is the day?  The sky is the blackest of blues and it's only 1 P.M.  The wind sounds like a train heading over a cliff.  The sky has become a cloud, and the cloud is reaching for you.  She has enclosed you, squeezing while you gasp helplessly.  The vicious cloud is smashing all that you are; destroying all that you have. 

No one around you seems to notice; everyone else is enjoying the sun.

Where will you land this time?

The Power of Touch

   My granddaughter, when she hasn't seen me for more than a week, gives me a big hug and then looks directly into my eyes with her little hands on each side of my face.  Then she smiles at me and puts her forehead on mine.  We usually kiss each other on the cheek and hug a little longer.  She's three.

   When I have not seen my granddaughter for more than a week, I find myself looking forward to her hug.  I look forward to her always, but she is the only one who touches my face.  I find myself missing her touch.  I find myself missing the way she looks right into my eyes.  The way she looks at me and says 'I missed you Mama".  A touch and eye contact; powerful stuff. 

    It amazes me that sometimes if I don't see her for three or four weeks, I ache for her to touch my face.  I miss her intense hug.  I am blessed abundantly to have her.  I am more myself with her around me.  I am greatful for everyone that I love.  My family of origin as well as my family of choice are all important to me.  As it is for most everyone.   It is another of the things that make us more alike than different.

Big Hug.