Poetry

The Brightest Angel

The brightest Angel

slides on her spectacles,

and smiles.

It’s the painting

of us

that she loves the most.

She soaks the brush tip once more:

crystal blue and white,

and she paints

until her miracle

is perfect.

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A Blog a Day in May

May

It was May when it happened. The change in me, the one that planted little wing sprouts in my shoulders and dared me to fly into the sun. It was last May, do you remember it? The darling blog of May? A blog a day, in May.

I remember it all too clearly. Burying myself and the laptop in the bedroom, writing about the moments that whispered me into the darling of it all. I found myself, in that place. In that darling little town called May.

But.

When I found myself— when I rediscovered that deeper place within me—I stalled. And I’ve been stalling ever since, stalling among a sea of magic (and I’m not kidding about the magic; among other unexplainable things, I am somehow able to see the frequency waves that border my bathroom doorframe. No idea how or why— ALL the magical unicorn eyes, I suppose. Of course, one of my dearest friends has informed me it’s very likely a special form of epilepsy with my name on it, which, granted, could also be true.)

In the past year, I’ve both found and lost vast pieces of my life. I’ve discovered, and have been hovering over, the next steps of this very magical life of mine…but I have no idea where it’s all going to go from here.

So that’s why I’m doing it again.

A blog a day in May.

Another chance to set the wheel in motion and follow the breadcrumbs of life to someplace new, and guess what? You’re coming with me. You. My friends. My fellow joyfully broken humans. We’re all in this together, so I say let’s huddle and see what we can find in this little bloggy land of ours.

As always, with these funny little months of mine, I’ll do my best to come up with new ways to share my heart and make you all smile. But this time I’ll be doing things a little differently. I’ll be removing the pressure from myself entirely and saying: whatever will be, will be. Some days— as has quite often happened in the past— the tank very well may be running on empty. On those days, I’ll ask you to be patient and smile, and look forward to the next round of possibilities, if you’ll be so kind.

There’ll be no rules, this May.

No themes.

No set ideas.

Just me. You. And our humanity. The path of life and all the wishy-washy wonder that arises to share. I might share the day. I might share a deep insight. I might share a photo, a joke, a tear.

I might share just about anything. And It’ll all start on the first day of May.

Gosh, I hope you’ll meet me there.

All the love hearts,

Brooke. xxx

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Twelve Days of Christmas

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

It’s the second day of Christmas and here I am writing to you!

Surprise! I know. It’s been FOREVER. I’ll try not to leave it so long next time.

I wonder if you’ll even get this little email of mine. Do you have a computer in the North Pole? Do you even know what a computer is? Oh. Ha ha ha. Of COURSE you do, Santa— I’ll bet you’ve given a million of them away, in your time. Maybe even a billion. Well! However many you’ve given, I’m sure they’ve helped to change the world in some wonderful way.

Or not.

I mean, I don’t really know…

Umm. Santa? I truly am sorry I haven’t written for so long. The thing is, somewhere along the line someone told me you weren’t real—which is completely ridiculous, I know, especially considering I can feel you right here in my heart.

I’ll never let you go Santa.

Nope. Not ever. And do you know why?

Because I believe in magic. I believe in the magic of you.

That’s okay, isn’t it? For a big kid like me to believe in you always and forever and always, again?

Because, Santa, you’ve gotta know this: the magic of you lit the fire inside me. The magic of you helped to build me—helped fill me with all the bits of happy—and I am just not cool with letting you slip away quite so easily.

Big kids are allowed to believe, aren’t we, Santa?

I really hope you write back.

I really hope you write back and say, ‘Yes, Brooke, it’s okay for big kids to believe, too.’ Because I think my joy butterflies need you to keep them alive, Santa, I really and truly do. After all, joy butterflies eat magic for breakfast, lunch AND dinner. Without you…my joy butterflies might starve!

Anyway.

I really have waffled on.

I just wanted you to know this, Santa, I haven’t forgotten you. You’re still here, always in my heart.

Always.

Lots of love,

Brooke. (The biggest kid of them all.)

portrait of girl wearing christmas hat
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

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Inspiration, Life

A Simple Wish

I used to think that I was like the most beautiful bird.

That I could spread my wings

and fly anywhere I wanted.

Anywhere the wind blew.

It was silly of me to think that.

Now that I really think about it.

Photo by Djalma Paiva Armelin from Pexels

I used to think that magic lived inside of me.

That everywhere I went that same magic would shine,

that it would light up the world around me and make everything beautiful.

Well. 

Now I know.

I was wrong to think such a thing.

Photo by Leo Cardelli from Pexels

I used to think that If I closed my eyes and wished hard enough…

whatever I wished for might find me, and change-my-life.

For the better.

Then I grew up.

And grown ups really shouldn’t think such fanciful things.

Should they?

But my world has changed.

Because now I know life is best when I spread my wings and leap into the blue of it all.

I know magic comes to those who believe, and that wishes really do come true.

You’re here aren’t you?

Gifting me your time. Sharing with me your moment.

It’s my simple wish, fulfilled.

And it’s turned you and me into the loveliest of things:

Us.

Photo by Hillary Fox from Pexels

xx Brooke