ebb, flow

This morning, after years battling cancer
when she should have been giggling about the Jonas brothers,
discovering her style, and picking fights with her sister,
she died.
She was comfortable.  At peace.  Finally free to go smile again.

Just hours later, I was handed a limp, blue bundle.
I had to think fast, act fast.  Do it just right.
It worked.
Now she is spending the first of many nights in her mother's arms.

yellow bulbs

Its always worse in the winter.  The glow or glare of yellow, dingy light.  They hide behind transluscent panels.  Or squat on lampposts.  Spewing out photons powered by an endless stream of electrons on wires that weave back to Three Mile Island. 
They are the only light I get.  Rarely, a peak out a window teases me.  Turns out the sun was out there, boldly, all day long.  But the waning hours of winter are blinded by a dayful of work.
In my head I'm out there.  Running through snow-covered trails.  Camping with my kids. Sitting next to a campfire with my Better Half.   
Those yellow bulbs motivate me.  Someday I'll take back the day.  I'll take back my life. 
Someday those dim illuminators won't own me. 

fluff

I ran to work in the cold.  18 degrees.
Spent the morning with busy work.
Spent the afternoon helping a child die comfortably.
Ran home in snow that fell directly into my eyes
and chilled my toes
In a world of silent white.
I needed those miles.