Pastel felt tip

(I apologise for my excessive use of ellipses, but it's my blog and I'll snip if I want to ;))

This is not love perhaps...
But something written in lighter ink, said in a lower tone:
Something perhaps especially our own...
A need for inns on roads, islands in seas, halts for discoveries to be shared,
Maps checked and notes compared...

A.S.J. Tessimond

(Why? Because it speaks of promise and compromise; an alternative and/or settling for. At first it was refreshing, but later it seemed pitiful. That said, the 'inns', 'islands', 'halts' and 'maps' remind me of special times. I think/fear I will always be on the move; it's comforting to have someone/s content to be inns on those roads.)

Feeling feline

Those even we love most
We sleep within their lives like cats, and rove
Out in the night, and late return and coast

Their souls like furniture.

E.J. Scovell

(Why? Because I know that a sofa and a soul have little in common, yet truly fear that I'm the worst of this ilk of life rover.)

Who indeed

Who would
have guessed
it possible
that waiting
is sustainable -
a place with
its own harvest?

Kay Ryan

(Why? Because we spend our lives waiting, to some degree or other. Maybe it doesn't define us, but we hope or feel that there is always something or someone yet to come - including future versions of ourselves. I've glimpsed that patience isn't an antidote to waiting, but 'a place with its own harvest'. Learning how, and remembering to, practise it - even at a very basic level - makes my life richer, and me wiser. Patience is a somewhere - possibly the one place where I can picture myself staying put ;))