Apoidean Hospice

Snow tomorrow - better she spend her final hours this side of the glass.

It's like my soul is in jail (times 3)

1

Still spending all my time avoiding paperwork.  No art in that, sigh -

2 

Part of me resents the unnecessary complexity of it  

3 

But mostly, it's just shit that happened, and I don't want to clean it up -

Back in the box

I should be doing Death and Taxes today, but my heart's not in it -

Some firewood isn't firewood

I see two joined - embracing - but John tells me one grew from the other.

An early start

The cuttings taken before the last snow appreciate their new digs -

Winter at the beach

Dying?  In spite of those healthy roots?  Wait - new buds at the waterline.

Cold weather pleasures

That heated mattress pad is NOT better than sex.  Question came up, though -

It's not really a farm - it's a digital dollhouse

 

 

A neighbor says I paint with vegetables, but I see wallpaper.

Afternoon delight

I doubt if antidepressants lift the heart like red wine and dark beer.

We really ought to celebrate -

No mortgage and a small annuity - financial security.

John

A bit scattered, yes - but his heart so warm, and its colors fill my own.

Coping

My silver hair has more familiar colors artfully interspersed.

Never an artist, even less a poet, but that's SO not the point.