Still Here

how can you tell me
that you are excited to see
the man i will become
when you know
that you are not even allowed
to be in my life?
better yet,
why would you want
to be a part of something
that asks that of you?


Water Under The Bridge

And if I’m not the one for you
You’ve gotta stop holding me the way you do
Oh honey if I’m not the one for you
Why have we been through what we have been through?
It’s so cold out here in your wilderness
I want you to be my keeper
But not if you are so reckless.

If you’re gonna let me down
Let me down gently don’t pretend
That you don’t want me
Our love ain’t water under the bridge

-Adele, Water Under The Bridge

Old Souls

did you know?
did you know
when you told me
you were afraid i would leave you,
did you know you were warning me?
did you know?


Lost in the Night

windin’ roads
lead us apart
but my heart knows the way.
it speaks to yours,
echoing across valleys of time
in the hopes of whispering to you



when i close my eyes,
i can still smell
the sunflowers in your hair
and my heart aches
to be held by you again.

these western winds blow cold
and though tears grace my eyes,
i linger by the oaks;
growing as gnarled as they
in my pain.

you will fly to higher roosts
and leave me far behind
but my old roots still reach for you
yearning for your touch
just one last time.


Waker of the Wind

sometimes you would just know
when something wasn’t right
with me.
maybe it was on my face
or maybe you just understood my heart.

sometimes I would just know
when something wasn’t right
with you.
maybe it was on your face
or maybe I just understood your heart.

a connection like that
is completely incompatible
with the way they say you should live,
isn’t it?

sometimes you meet someone
and you have more intimacy with that person
in the mere span of moments
than you ever did spending years
on someone else.

i really don’t know
if there is any going back to sleep
after being awakened
in that way.



i found something true
in you.
i found a friend.
one that inspires,
one that believes,
one that hopes,
one that trusts.
one that wants the very best
for me
and isn’t afraid of being in my corner.
you lifted me to heights i’ve never dreamed of
and have seen me through the darkest moments.
i truly hope i was that person for you, too.
i truly do.



I would have loved to take you here.
The cool wind that blows in from the ocean
makes the wispy branches of the pepper tree
almost dance in the wind,
like your wild hair.
On a clear night,
you can see so many stars up here.
I wonder what we would talk about,
you know?
maybe we wouldn’t talk at all.
Maybe the two of us
could sit in mindful silence
knowing that this
is where we
are meant to be.



I went to that old road again.

Grabbed my camera and a sandwich. I think I just needed a change of scenery. Been moping all week and I felt something calling me out there.

Lord knows I haven’t been down that road in, what, eight or nine years? My gramma used to live back there, in the hills. Oak trees and sycamores lined that road. I remember trying to peek out the window to catch glimpses of the beavers that would build their damns in that reservoir. I didn’t know then that were never any beavers. Just something my dad said to get my imagination running, I suppose.

I pulled in off the side of the road by the telephone pole. Laced my boots up, grabbed my bag and started walking.

It had been almost a decade since I was last through here. Last remnants of family moving or dying, I can’t remember. I had always been buckled in the back seat of whatever car we were driving then, so walking on foot allowed me more time to really take in that dusty, old road.

The cool, sweet sage smell that soaked into the hills was still as strong as it always was. The oaks still as gnarled, the sycamores still as proud. There were more houses shoved in than I remember. People tend to wanna stay just far enough away from civilization to criticize it, but close enough to run to it when they get scared. There had been a small bit of rain a few days prior, so the dirt and asphalt were particularly pungent. The kind of loamy smell that only water can bring out.

There’s a particular section when the finely paved road turns into a one car dirt path. That’s where you truly get to experience the canyon. Massive oaks with their mighty branches reach over to the other end of the road and enormous boulders, split into two under their massive weight, litter the path. It can be a bit treacherous on more sensitive vehicles.

Snapped a few shots of a gorgeous scrub jay that had been following me. I can’t remember where, but I swore I read something that said how the color blue was something that didn’t appear much in nature. Something to do wavelengths and the energy that blue light emits.

My dad used to tell me stories about how there was a secret pirate cave hidden among the gulley where rainwater would run off. Somehow, Long John so-and-so ran off and buried a treasure deep in the hills of Thousand Oaks. Of course that wasn’t true, but my little kid self believed it. I promised to return when I was older to find it. He would laugh, no doubt writing it off as childhood wonder. But a part of me still wonders if there really is some secret hidey-hole waiting to be discovered, and at the bottom is a trove of forgotten treasure.

That’s something that really got me thinking while I was out walking. We tell ourselves or our children stories, but to what purpose? Were I any less na├»ve, I could have shot down my dad’s story in a heartbeat. But I didn’t because I believed. I had hope in his story. And he could have just as easily told me that he was only joking, too. But he didn’t. Maybe he wanted to me have that hope. That maybe, against all odds, there really was a chance. I reflected on how I still carry that foolish hope even to this day. That even when circumstances are at their bleakest, my stupid heart dares to raise a fist to fate and carry that little flame of hope in the face of certain extinguishment.

I got to the top of the hill where the road ran out. I turned around and looked out over the golden hues of the canyon as the sun set. I felt sad, because I had spent good moments of my childhood in here without ever really being in the canyon. I thought of the stories my dad told me and I thought of you, too. Maybe I’m foolish to believe that I will get to see you again. Maybe I’m foolish to believe that I will get to hear that windchime of a laugh again. Maybe I’m foolish for believing that God has written more for you and I.


But for now, as the sun sets over the canyon, I have hope. Hope for us. Hope for that future we talked about.

It was a long walk back to the car but as I took one last deep breath of oak and sage, I thought of how great of a storyteller I am going to be to my little kids someday. That one day, I can be a ghost of hope for them. That one day, they too can raise their fists against fate and declare their hope in the face of hopelessness.

One day. I can feel it.


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