Tales From The Fragile Balancing Act

Oh, to occupy that head of yours if only for a moment or two.  How nice it must be to have no worries  no urgency. To sprint up  thirteen steps only to yell  down immediately,  “Does anyone know why  I am  up here?”  To never have to worry about being on time someone takes care of that for you. Oh, and the bills:  Quick! Who gives us electricity? Yeah...  didn't think so. To be the one playing on the floor,  making them laugh  when it’s that time to leave while I make sure they have  food, clothes, bibs… an endless                   checklist so long, check                                    detailed, check                                            it would make                                                         You shiver. Oh, it must be so, so, so nice. But all this is nonsense, correct?   We both know what’s true. That without your calm my go-go would spiral  into oh-no. Oh, and in regards to you, with no me,

Dylan’s January Fort  On Peter’s Hill, a few hundred homes nestled, slender skyward reaching, blanketed in oppressive white.  Silence save imagined crackling from wood stoves. Behind 30 Ashfield in the small patch of land stands our creation now encrusted in sharp stone shoals, burning ice.  Its wonder still steadily glows. A week earlier exhausted from life  and shoveling, surprised  myself  starting the pile.  I smelled  salty sand, remembering sitting  with cousins as we dug seeking China. Breaking the silence scattered  snow offers came hurried,  excited footsteps,               descending                                 sol-                                     fege. Out the door a burst of orange, your mouth  dropped, eyes widened, countless  possibilities.  “A tunnel Dada!”   Complying I pushed aside cautious tendencies and the  mountain’s center ’til we both could burrow through. You shuffled back and for