Colorado hikes:
definition of summer
plush with Columbines


Colorado hikes:
definition of summer
plush with Columbines


he corrected me
even though it’s in Spanish
white buds. so pretty.

‘no’ is a new word
yet so familiar to me.
so adolescent.

we’ll see where this goes.
a flat road to nowhere fast?
or the sky, endless?
a lazy lake day
calmer than a quarantine
peace (so far from peace).



a bike ride downtown
to this perfect patio
almost like old times


a bike ride downtown
on a trail no longer closed
(to me, at least): joy

there is no escape here.
only evasion.
it’s up this curvy road packed with hill after horse-country hill,
packed with perfect fences and horses whipping their tails,
with cars zooming past, some honking at my hugging-the-shoulder presence as i pedal
pedal
pedal
past these race-won mansions,
these stacked-limestone walls that can’t trap me in or out,
into the sunny, humid heat of midday Kentucky,
so far from home, so far from home,
so near to everything that is hard and easy, up and down these endless hills
in a circle that isn’t a circle.



if only these pics were perfect
as perfectly peaceful as they appear
and no one lost a phone (and all the love attached) to a lake
and no one said they hated each other
and no one lied to their mother
and no one cried.


but life isn’t this lake
this quiet Kentucky fishing lake that we ruined with six screaming kids and one barking dog
this peaceful lake for paddling or praying or both
this swimmable, all-ours, wake-free lake.

Life is this lake, isn’t it?
Perfect and not so perfect.

nothing like my park
and isn’t that so perfect?
vines, dogs, shade, creeks, peace.


nothing like my path
and isn’t that so perfect?
sun, hills, curves, town, bike.



not what i dreamed of
for our family vacation;
pretty all the same


you wouldn’t believe
how fire Kentucky is
sunsets, family, all


this is our family
working through each glittered pic
and this quarantine

