The aches of living day by day wear on us;
But not so fast - more like sandpaper on old wood.
We need something besides earning a living;
Perhaps just a sunny day or the taste of sweet water.
We are not always admitted to others' special places,
So we wander around and look for our own.
I find the places of the heart are all over;
Between the pages of unread books or in a dusty attic.
There are places we go in our thoughts and real life;
On the edge of a lake, a high spot on a mountain,
Maybe amongst the trees or in a canyon of colors,
Or a strong wind on an ocean beach.
We find ourselves there at odd times;
Sometimes alone or with friends or family.
It's a wishing place and a hopeful time;
One heals there, kneels there, and waits there.
There is no particular hurry and the air feels good;
Like a first kiss or the joy of running for the fun of it.
We hold things there like stones, or grass or memories;
We run to these places for refuge and a touch of something.
God seems more real and the earth more constant.
We smile, cry, but in a different way, almost shy;
We think of other places but in a better frame of mind;
We just feel special as we skip a stone across something.
We tell ourselves that all is well or getting better,
Even if it is not true we choose to believe it,
The tears are there - drops of pearls and sunshine,
All hooked to a rainbow that came for the day.