My longings are tugging again,
asking for her to come out and play.
The wild one.
The spontaneous, change-craving one.
The one whose time was all her own.
The one who thought slow and simple was for the birds.
The one who could effortlessly free fall into love
without the fear
Cocooned on the brink of new life,
the longings sit and wait.
To sit and wait,
for the kids to grow up,
so we can find her again.
But what if the sitting and waiting is actually
the finding and living?
What if slow and simple gives me wings?
What if I don’t lose myself a little more this time around;
but find a treasure trove of wholeness deep in the ground I’m unearthing by
What if that’s what I’ve been longing for
Small moments of ordinary magic stretching into an entire life.