Pine-Sol

I want to touch the sun.

I want to swim in the ocean.

I glide through the forest – sinking my feet into the moss; unafraid.

It smells perfect here. Clean air. Blue heavens. Pine.

The things they try to capture on the commercials for room sprays and deodorizers; full of toxins.

The things meant to make us feel calm about our surroundings when really

They’re just chemicals floating through the air.

Of course we can live through them.

Breathe through them.

Survive them.

I can also get hit by a bus and live.

In a wheelchair or a bed. I can finger paint, or dictate my thoughts.

But I don’t want to do that.

I want to soar – not like the hawk over Candlewood Lake in Connecticut.

Menacing prey.

I’ve menaced enough prey.

I want to soar like a butterfly, full from a romp in the flowery weeds

And off to see my friends

Light as a feather.

Darting back and forth and up and down.

Really enjoying this almost purposeless flight.

We do not need to always have a purpose.

Sometimes, we can just exist inside of the elements

Love them.

Claim them.

Make them our own.

And for this particular exercise,

We need to understand the deep

Ancient art of forgiveness.

Not piety or opinion.

The hands, wrinkling more each year

Grasping the other hand. Its partner.

Sometimes that is in prayer and other times,

It is in desperation.

No matter what it is, for you,

The hands must find the part of you that breathes

And sink and rise with you

And sink and rise

Until you are able to look

At a flower, and smile.