Monday, November 28, 2011

How Do You Know?- Rated "M" for Mature



One evening recently I stumbled upon the last thirty minutes of a silly little romantic comedy called- “How Do You Know.”  As I watched the two main characters wrestling to come to terms with their final heartwarming revelations about each other, this little puff of a story gusted into the caverns of my brain, rolled through the tunnels of my arms and out of the pathways in my fingers to land here…on this page.

The story is odd yet enticing, in my humble opinion of course. The writing style might not suit everyone, but I hope you'll be entertained.

While the movie characters struggled with the question “how do you know who is right for you," it occurred to me that more often than not, we know exactly, deep down, in the core of our guts, when someone has that little “something” that makes them even temporarily, “the one.” 

Whether he or she is the one for now, or for a lifetime, the joy and pleasure, uncertainty and fear, all come to play when deciding whether or not to act upon that information. So the real question, to me, becomes now that you know he or she is worth putting more time and effort into- What are you going to do about it?

Happiness, whether for a single day, or for fifty glorious years is a blessing, a gift.  Aren’t we cheating ourselves and all those who would smile at seeing “the ones” together, when we let fear, or busy schedules, or society, or family, or friends, or  __________________________you fill in the blank, deter us from grabbing that lovely morsel of a person up- if we don’t do SOMEthing to grab that little piece of happiness and hold on to it tightly, for as long as we can?

I’ve decided that for myself, I don’t want to cheat the universe, or me, of knowing the blessing of a trusting, loyal companionship with someone who truly “knows/gets me” and likes me anyway J  If the universe ever chooses to reveal that unique entity to me, I want to be open to explore the possibilities and enjoy the ride for however long that person may be destined to be a part of my life.

Here’s wishing that your life experiences lead you to discover which person and what path is right for you, whether it be for a lifetime, a reason, or a season.
Oh and one more note, this story is as much about seduction, as it is finally realizing a dream, because let’s face it, our dreams are perhaps the most seductive things we possess.

Ok, on to the story- Hit the play button on the video screen for a little mood music to go with the tale.  I love a romantic story, coupled with a kick ass song, don't you?


Enjoy J

_____________________________
Brush

Hunky body bombarding the room. Always the bull in a china shop, him. He arrives invited of course, but as usual, late.  Intuitive grey eyes zigzag across the span of the darkened room , until he sees her.

What he spies
with his little eyes
is the newly realized
object of his desire.

Her back to him, she knows full well of his entrance. Exuding a cool attitude of “no worries,” she none the less, now wrestles to avoid being smothered by her own attempts to maintain steady, controlled in and ex-halation.

Riding on awakening tides, her greeting sails across the room to playfully pounce upon his eardrums-

“Hey you….Come on in.  I thought you’d never get here, ole pokey puppy. You’re late!” 

Her smile is sweet, like cotton candy. Lopsided and a bit cocky, it launches from her lips to greet and validate the plan of action that has been percolating in his head for just how long, he can’t even remember.  His thoughts are like seeds having been planted in Styrofoam picnic cups. Shoots growing tentatively,  gingerly moving toward the soil’s surface, waiting until just the right time to be born, and nurtured.

His plan involves risk, but that’s ok. After all, he’s not there to play games.  Tricks are for kids, which is why he left his Underoos at home. Came dressed in his Calvin Kleins ready to claim his portion of more than Jujubes and iced cold soda pop.

In the past few weeks, he’s come to realize the profundity of the old adage- “sometimes the very thing you adamantly seek is, and always has been, right in front of your face.” 
Something like that anyway.

Snippets of Cosmopolitan magazine articles and romance novel images wading in her eyes trying to disguise…what?
Her breath catches, then accelerates.  Even from across the room, he smells good; like sea spray and muscle.  Like hairy chests and evergreen pine.

“Glad you could make it though,” she finishes with a healthy dose of playful sarcasm.

A force set in motion before it could be contained, the lowering of her twinkling hazel eyes cannot grab the moonbeam jettisoning through the dusky, TV blue haze. Unintentionally, yet pointedly it heat seeks in his direction.

Over a year of sharing secrets and laughs, tall tales and gaffs, beers and pork rinds. Using safety nets woven with the vibes of one another, both slowly worked to abolish the lies of those who were not always so kind. Walking on common ground they’d been traversing across burning sands that fueled,
versus incinerated, “more,”
to end up- “here….”

…in her living room, on a Saturday night, once again. Each preparing, in their own way, to engage in the usual movie night banter.  Just easy, good times shared between two people who enjoy each other’s company. 

This is one of many such evenings conducted over the past six months, unintentionally increasing in frequency, and although neither would admit it, also growing in intensity. It’s by far easier to focus on the parts of this shared puzzle- the things they can see and touch, versus the hidden attractions undeniably building inside.

 DVD movie-check. Blu-ray version- check.  Surround sound turned down, them aligned together among the sofa pillows smelling the potent aroma of promise- sublime.

Unborn, yet fully gestated scripts looping through two separate brains pregnant with opportunities, cautiously entertaining potentialities- spurred on by formerly unrecognized, yet to be conceptualized, aphrodisiacs.

He asserts access to his usual spot on the sofa next to her. The first “brush” spawns static electricity. *Pop!* His thigh brushing her thigh. Then again while passing him the remote, *Pop!* her hand brushing his hand.  Both slight encounters spawn visions of incendiary temptations. Someone, maybe both, think-

“Mmmmm touch me…”


The movie ensues- a silly comedy rife with adolescent rough housing and potty mouthed hilarity. Senses at attention not for the celluloid however, but the humanoid.  It’s hard to maintain and be entertained under feelings yearning so persistently to be free. Each brushing the other innocently, or so it would seem. Two parts of a metronome ticking quietly, repeatedly, incessantly.

A sideways glance- one to the other, 
”…have you ever…”
balancing on the tip of awareness,
 “dreamt about…”
dancing on the tongue’s apogee,
“…me?” 

Instead of broaching the unspoken, out tumbles the obvious, “You want a soda and some popcorn?”  She pops up like a hot oil bathed kernel.  Missile projected towards the kitchen she is gone before he can even reply.

The reality?  Too much physical proximity, creating too much internal turbidity. She darts toward her only visible means of escape-
to catch her breath
to gather her wits
to rein in her thoughts
to clear her head.

Hovering over the microwave, trying to coax Orville Redenbacher’s corn to bloom with the increasing heat inside the little oven, she smiles again, only not so innocently this time.  Delicious fear twirls over her making roller coaster waves tumble in her belly. Visions of a hungry beast bring a tinge of pink to her cheeks.  She sucks the salt off the base of her little finger. 



“Mmmm…..lick me…..”


As if on cue, the “beast” strides into the kitchen moving in close, so very close behind her.

Her pulse thump, thump, thumping out of control. Rapidly beating bird wings pounding against the ivory ribs of its cage. A feeling of forced confinement, even though she stands freely in the spacious expanse of her own kitchen surrounded by the homey aromas of popcorn and chocolate chip cookies.  Turbulence swells louder and louder in her brain building to a crescendo inside her head…

‘Let me out!!!’


Caged beast or sequestered prey? She can’t tell where his desire begins, or hers ends.  Maybe they both exist together,
at this moment,
in this kitchen.

Maybe they’ve always existed, it’s just that the cages are more flimsy now.

She turns and almost drops the soda in her hand. He is right there in front of her, grinning. Near enough to brush her skin with his touch…his breath near enough to graze her face.

“Whoa Dude! You almost made me drop this soda!” 

A look not quite frail, actually somewhat seductive. Her feelings, while not  unwanted, still cause her the slightest bit of duress. Vulnerability always does.  She, so calm and in control, not used to being the hunted or known.  More comfortable being elusive. There is safety in the cloak, under the hood.

But with his hood thrown back and his chest exposed, he inwardly congratulates himself that his brazenness appears to throw her off kilter.  It makes her parted lips more inviting.  The slope of her neck more kissable. In his dreams he’s been standing in this spot a million times, stopping just short of finally kissing her full on, with no hesitation or regrets.

This is truly the last thing she expected to happen tonight- to find herself wedged between him and the kitchen sink.  For the first time since they met, she feels he is somehow inviting her to come closer, not to his physicality, but to his fragile emotionality.

“You avoiding being near me girl?”
“ You’re so silly, why would I do that?”  Discomfort evident, even if cloaked in giggles.

He leans in ever so slightly to inhale her scent. It’s warm and sensual like amber colored sunsets and wildflowers growing along a path illumined by white hot stars.  She closes her eyes for an instant. She leans back, but there is nowhere to go.  He has her compressed between the cabinet and his stocky frame.

“Not an altogether unpleasant place to be,’ she thinks almost absent mindedly.

But why now?  Why tonight? In all the time they’d known each other he had never even pretended to flirt with her, nor she with him.  Now he seemed ready to engulf her like a playful cloud momentarily envelops the light of a sunny day.

She couldn’t lie, plenty of times she’d meditated on moments like this; wondering how she’d react.  What would she say if he suddenly shed his coat of armor, and dared her to remove hers?  A crazy game of truth or dare. Truth was…did she dare?

“What are you doing?” she asks quietly. Her eyes so intensely focused on his, he feels his heart skipping beats behind the confines of his shirt.

“What do you want me to do?” he puts one arm up bringing his hand to rest by her head on the cabinet behind her. His fingers brushing her hair as they move. More compression, definitely more turbulence, his chest barely missing  brushing hers.

“I want you to tell me what kind of pop you want with this popcorn,” saucy yet cute coming from her.

“Ha ha,” he grins rakishly.  “What if I don’t want soda pop?” a smile oozing confidence along with a strong sense of purpose. 

With one deft movement she ducks under his arm and slips from his grasp, heading back to the fridge.

“You’re funny,” she counters. “I have your favorite beer, so hows about that?”

“You gonna have one too?” Amusement tickling the corners of his mouth.

“You trying to get me drunk? You know your brand of beer hits me like a brick, lite weight that I am.”  she says mischievously.

“Naw, never that,” a totally disarming smile. “Come to think of it, no beer for me. I want to try something new tonight. How about you?”

They look at each other simply, honestly. Hazel and grey gazes mixing to create gold.

Thoughts race, then boomerang back to where they started. Isn’t that where all dreams go, out into the universe, eventually floating back again to their rightful owners?

Standing in the middle of her apartment,
on a Saturday night,
with a DVD playing on the TV
they converse silently-

“I am a willing canvas- paint me.”

“I am the restless waves of the ocean- roll with me.”

“I am a wild expanse of forest not accessible to most- explore me.”

“I am the highest mountain peak- climb me.”

“I am a wild lioness waiting for someone brave enough to approach- tame me.”

And with that he approaches. 

leaning in one final time,
for one final brush…
He brushes his lips gently across hers.

Permissions finally granted, they burst into flame.


Mistral Wind blowing thru until next time...

TDM (Copyright © 11-2011)

Monday, August 29, 2011

The Whirling, Swirling Words

I've been a writer all of my life. I wrote my first "story" in the third grade. It was called "Thumper the Boy Frog." I think my Mama still has it packed away somewhere.

Several years back I found out I was a "real" poet of sorts as well.  While I'd written poetry before, you know...teenaged mushy stuff about boyfriends and what not, I always blamed "my muse" for not being able to write all the time.  I'd write here and there when something came to me, but nothing much beyond that. Actually I wrote mostly horror stories. I may post one some day. We'll see...


I became really interested in poetry in the online community I was a part of.  They had what was called "theme poetry."  It was mostly an invitation for all would be, wanna be and actual poets to create pieces of poetry around a common theme and then share them with the community. The theme would change weekly. Sometimes they also added the challenge of writing in a particular style of poetry.  Eventually I became the coordinator of that group resulting in my now having over 180 pages of poems. 


Am I a good poet you might ask?  I dunno. Sometimes I think 'hell yeah!' even though I'm very critical of my writing.  But really what I think doesn't matter, the worth or level of meaning in a poem is definitely in the eyes of the reader I think.  Besides, I fancy myself more of a story teller than a poet.

Being a theme poet did teach me quite a bit though.  I learned about different poetry styles, which was very cool. I learned that writing was NOT dependent upon my muse. I found out, much to my surprise, that I could take a theme and write a poem about it on demand. Sometimes ideas and words would come tumbling out of my head like cornflakes out of a cereal box.  At other times it was like mining for gold, I had to dig a bit to get at the really good nuggets.


When I started this blog I decided to add some of the poems I've written from time to time. They're always up for interpretation, and as always, comments are welcome.

I seem to write a lot about love, relationships and the like.  Many of my poems are completely ripped from my imagination.  Others were written in my blood, images carved out of my own joys and sorrows. Either way, I hope you will be entertained.  And while I'm at it, let me officially thank you for being here reading my little blog.  Out of all the hundreds of thousands of blogs out there, you are here, reading mine. I'm honored, flattered and I truly appreciate your presence. 


Now on to my whirling, swirling words.  I hope you enjoy reading them.

NOTE: In most cases, the title of the poem reflects what the weekly theme was at that time.













 Epitaph Explained
When I’m dead…
What will become of all my poetry?
Will it be used to immortalize me?
Will you remember me when it you read?
Will you see all of the wild and wonderful things I’ve seen?

The reality is that in spite of, or despite me
when I’m dead,
my poetry
will
live
on.

© TDM 06/22/08

Helplessness
Mirror, mirror on the wall
who is the most helpless of them all?
Is it the boy with a grown man’s face,
the little child standing
in a grown man’s place?

Made me the object of your desire
didn’t look before you leaped
into the fire.
Now you’re feeling all confused
the game is played out,
now who is feeling used?

Asked for honesty and
damn you panicked,
had you shuffling and stuttering
like a tweaked out
crack addict.

So I ask you-
helplessness what does it really mean?
to be tossed and manipulated
by nebulous forces unseen?
to be slayed and laid terminally low
dragging a wounded heart
perpetually in tow?

You were the one caught up in wrong doing
I was just listening
hoping
looking-
being tried and tested yet true..
so tell me boy,
what wrong did I do to you?

Now I sit here-
cigarette smoke curling around my face
shaking my head
too late to pick up the pace.

Does helplessness have any other name?
does it hide behind the masks
of grief
or embarrassment
or shame?

I want somebody who is
in it to stay,
not a man-boy changing his mind
every other day
letting his man meat pull him into the fray
born out of cheap, late night talk
and all too irresistible forays.

So if I risked my heart
and gave up some of my ability
to reason,
in light of your transgressions
who is really guilty
of emotional treason?

I’m about to bounce
without a trace
leave you standing
with much deserved egg on your face
but it isn't me
who is the disgrace
or settled for less-
it’s you.

And you can act like you don’t care
but honey pleez, I’m already there.
Yeah you can act like that
if you want to
but as Celie said to Mister-
“everything done to me,
already done to you…”

You’ll have to face Karma...
she’ll want blood
nothing less,
and that my dear, is the essence and form
of true helplessness.
Mirror, mirror on the wall
who is the most helpless of them 
all…
© TDM 01/03/06




















Style Challenge-Shape Poetry= Shape Poetry is also called Concrete Poetry
"Shape is one of the main things that separates prose and poetry. Poetry can take on many formats, but one of the most inventive forms is for the poem to take on the shape of its subject. So if the subject of your poem is a tree, then the poem's lines would be written so that the poem appears to take on the shape of a tree."
(http://members.cox.net/berniehpoetry/type/shape.html)
(note-read left to right, and yes it was as hard to write as it looks!)


© TDM 4/4/2006


Time
(for my loving daughter-RM)

I’m not the woman
I thought I’d be,
but I like who I am
most days.

Granted, I’m a little crazy
in the head,
but I’d like to think I have
some good ways.

Time has sometimes
been a friend to me,
sometimes she had me
all mixed up.

The wine she served
was sometimes sweet,
at other times I wanted
to pass the cup.

Like blood oozing through snow
or black cherries ripening
on a grey green vine,
we all savor, yet resist
the passage of our own precious time.

I am no exception
with my dreams and my daughter in tow.
After I’ve walked the way I’m going,
I hope and pray I’ve shown her
the right way to go.

Because isn’t that really what time
and life is all about;
to live, to learn, passing on what we know
without too many regrets, or doubts?

No, I’m not the woman I envisioned I’d be-
I’m a tad crazy, by now a little worn.
Yet even as I mourn the passing of some of my dreams,
I joyfully shout and celebrate hers being born.

So when my time is truly over,
I can go in peace because I know
my sweet daughter will be the grand harvest
of all the faith, hope and love seeds
I’ve sown.

© TDM 5/6/2006









Well that's all for now. Once I get to posting poems, it's hard to know which ones to pick, or where to stop. There are so many I like. So yes, there will be more posted in the future. Stay tuned.

MistralWind whirling and swirling thru till next time...

Tuesday, August 23, 2011

Gale Winds- Adult Content!

Several online resources describe a gale wind as- "a very strong wind," although there is debate regarding just how strong "very strong" really is.  In January 2006 I had heard from, and read about, so many folks struggling with lost love, unrequited love, jacked up love, elusive love, psycho love, etc. that I felt compelled to pen and post this next piece on the internet community I was a member of at the time.


Back then I called it my "Friday Nite Rant."  Today I call it a Gale Wind.  Just how strong it really is I suppose, depends upon who is reading it and where they feel they fit into the fray. The wild thing is, here we are five years later and I'm STILL hearing and reading about folks struggling with the very same thing!  Is this the way of  our current generation, society and culture?  Or is this just the way it is?  I've edited this some, but not much.  Rant or Wind, it still blows the same... 

A Gale Wind- Rant Redux 2011  

"Maybe it's this movie I just watched...maybe it's the stuff I've read, seen and heard over the past several months. But it occurs to me more and more that you have a lot (I didn't say ALL or even many....but a lot) of folks out here, men AND women that wouldn't know a so called "good" man or woman if that person came up to them with a lit firecracker, put it in the crack of their ass, and applauded with pom poms when it went off!
You've got some walking wounded jokers perpetrating, ragging on other folks, when they have no idea what they need or even want in a casual friend, let alone a significant other!

They expect the worst and by golly, they get it! They've had conflicted and tormented relationships with mothers, fathers, ex's, and Lord every new person they meet has to pay for it!

And please don't use the word commitment with them, blood freezes up in their veins like ice water. Please don't do or say anything they don't like cause they'll pick up their toys quicker than shit and be on their merry way.

They never give unless they are getting first and they're still liable to not give even then.

You've got women wanting someone to pay their bills and get their hair and nails done, but might screw your buddy on the low low.

You've got men telling wide eyed women.."baby you're my this and my that," yet they're telling 3 other chicks the same damned things at the same damned time!

How are you gonna have a laundry list of shit you want in a relationship, yet you aren't willing to do half that shit your damned self??

Talking about communication is important, yet you don't talk.

Talking about monogamy is key, yet you might screw if the offer is attractive enough, or you ain't got shit else to do.

If someone says something shady about your man or your woman, why wouldn't you go directly to them and talk it out? Did it ever occur to you that the messenger might want you and that's why they're trying to throw a spoke all up in your wheels??

How is your man or woman gonna be honest with you about something you're doing (or not doing) and then you get mad and don't talk to them anymore??? Da hell?? Is your pride that fierce, or your ego that much of a monster??

How are you gonna be with someone for a few years and then holler you don't feel "attractive" anymore, but the attention you get from the the thirsty dudes, or the hungry chicks at the club or bar make you feel better about yourself?? [insert eyeroll gif] C'Mon SON or SISTER, you know that confidence and self appreciation comes from within!

How are you gonna tell someone you want to work it out, yet you run at the first sign of trouble? Love, caring, strong like, whatever you want to call it, is supposed to be the glue that gives you the motivation and ability to work through conflict. If you keep running from conflict, you'll always be running scared.

There will always be conflict in a relationship, hell in life period. If you can't handle it, don't be telling somebody you want a relationship, cause guess what....
YOU CAN'T HANDLE IT!!


I've seen so many men and women hurting lately- friends, family, co-workers, acquaintances, online and in real time. Some from wanting love, some from being afraid of it. Some from getting burned by love, some just fucking sick and tired of the madness associated with it.





But the end result is the same...you got some fucked up in the head mofos walking around selling wolf tickets to the elusive good man or woman, getting involved with them and then ruining them for the next truly good man or woman they happen to meet!!

I've seen some beautiful women exercising patience and loving kindness dealing with men that are trifling, rude and insensitive. My prayer for them is that they recognize the game and get on before they get shit on.

What did somebody say the other day....if someone tells you who they are, believe them. More importantly if they keep SHOWING you with actions, believe that cause actions speak louder than words any day of the week.

I've seen some good hearted men taken to the cleaners both materially and emotionally by some strumpet (yeah an old term, but it applies!) that demands the world, but wouldn't give up a piece of old chewing gum from the bottom of her fake azz purse. My prayer for them is to recognize that good women are all around them. They might not have a "banging ass" or "big tits," but they are loving, loyal and will stand behind you when you need them to, not just when it's convenient or all about them.

I respect and love my sisters and brothers, God knows I do.. but the shit we do to each other on the regular is spirit draining, patience wearing, and as someone said to me once...overly frustrating, to see, hear about and especially, experience.

Slow your roll, go to counseling, talk to a good friend, pray, consult your pastor, write in a journal....do whatever you need to do to figure out why you want that good relationship, but just can't seem to find, or have it. Or if you get it, why you keep mucking it up.

Or if you are "the fucker," why are you fucking with folks?? Find you somebody that's a fucker too, then ya'll will have it made in the shade. No harm, no foul.

Recognize a red flag for what it is....
a red flag. Run Forrest Run if you can't seem to get that shit to turn back white.

And before somebody asks, naw I'm not mad at anybody, lol! Just the sass in me, speaking my mind on something I hate to see- the demise of real relationships and the ruination of those beautiful guys and gals still trying to believe in magic, love and togetherness, yet getting their hands slapped and their asses kicked when they try to give the trifling assholes of this world a chance.

If you're fucking up, STOP.
If you're allowing someone to fuck you over, STOP.


Ya'll be kind to each other, if you've got someone you care about, tell 'em dammit! Ain't nothin' promised to ya."

Peace and by all means, if you have a comment feel free, I'd love to hear it.



MistralWind blowing thru till next time... 




Saturday, July 30, 2011

Full on Empty



Recently while wading in the ocean, hoping to find shells, I found one.  Just because one wades in the ocean, doesn't mean you'll find great shells. You have to be on the right part of the coast, often at the right time of day. You know the cliche, right time, right place. 

I was new to this area and not quite sure what to expect shelling wise.  I have shells like the one I found, a Fighting Conch. In fact, I have several.  But I had never found one so beautiful.  The color was deeper, more vibrant, and the surface shinier. I was ecstatic.  I hurriedly placed the precious find inside the bra part of my swimsuit, next to my skin, and proceeded to look for more.

I soon found another one, this one a Lightening Whelk.  It was different in shape, but again one of the most beautiful shells I've ever found. I popped that one into my bra as well. I couldn't believe my luck.

When I found the third shell, another Fighting Conch, I placed it in my bra and went sloshing to the shore to put them in my bag.  I took them out of my swimsuit carefully, still marveling at how alive the colors were; the same, yet so different from the dozens of shells I've gathered in the past.

When I put them in my lap so I could open my bag, I suddenly noticed a pair of googly eyes slowly beginning to emerge from the first one I'd found.  I stood up abruptly, causing all three to fall to the ground. I couldn't believe it, but there was something inside that shell.



I then noticed that all three began moving, now that they were on solid ground.  I've never found live shells before. They've always been empty. I thought about how close they were to my skin, yet they never moved until I took them out. Now the vibrant colors made sense.  They were still alive.

I did a bit of research later and found this at http://www.fitzgeraldscustominteriors.com/Types-of-shells.html:

"While alive, the seashell flames brilliant orange, but fades under tropical sunshine."

The first one I found was definitely the most agressive.  He/she/it immediately threw out that meaty arm, flipped over and attempted to dig its way back to the ocean. It wanted desperately to escape, to live.



I hesitated. Now I was faced with a choice. I could let the shell frantically dig back to the ocean, or I could keep it.  I really wanted that shell.  I could take it back to my condo and still have it, but I'd have to kill it.   

In the end I couldn't do it, I couldn't kill it just to have a new shell no matter how pretty it was. I respected and admired all three of the shells too much to kill them.  So I picked them up, carrying them in my hands this time. Walking back into the ocean I pitched them out into the water as far out as I could throw.  I knew other people would eventually stroll by, and perhaps upon finding them might keep and kill them. 

That changed the context of my shell finding journey.  Instead of trying to find them to keep, I would find them and throw them as far out as I could, so they wouldn't be found, at least not that day, by anyone on that beach.

Now there is nothing all that extraordinary about this scenario.  Well...besides the part about me storing live shells inside my bra. (yikes!)  But bear with me here...No, what is extraordinary, is the parallel I drew between finding those shells and love.  While I'm sure there are a myriad of parallels one could make, I focused on this one...

When I picked up the first shell, I noticed the outside beauty of course, but later I thought- how could I not have felt the weight?  Live shells, are somewhat heavier than their empty counterparts.  The difference is subtle, but discernible.  I couldn't believe I had missed it so easily.

So what if...just what if potential suitors were like those shells? One could say I've encountered so many pretty good looking shells with nothing much of substance inside.  One could even say, I've become accustomed to finding shells that are lovely to look at, but they don't seem to be good for much else.

Then we come to the dynamic trio of shells I found that day. They were not only beautiful, but ALIVE! They were actually filled to the brim. I failed to see it until they all came spilling out of their shells.  I didn't feel it, even though they were so close to my heart.

So my question to you reading, and to myself is this.....Have we become so accustomed to dealing with empty shells, that when a beautiful, vibrant shell full of possibility comes our way, we don't even recognize it anymore?

I guess in a way it boils down partially to what I wrote starting off this entry- "Just because one wades in the ocean, doesn't mean you'll find great shells. You have to be on the right part of the coast, often at the right time of day. You know the cliche, right time, right place...." 
But even more important, you have to be able to recognize what you find.  I really hope that when and if "it" comes my way, I'll see it.

MistralWind, blowing through until next time...