The Love of a Home.

This morning I woke up with a familiar aching in my heart.

I took a shower, I brushed my teeth, I fumbled through my morning routine, but i couldn't shake it. I couldn't overcome it. I couldn't reconcile myself with it.

Sometimes I wrestle with my need like a warrior with a voracious lion. Sometimes I lay my will at it's feet, I curl up under it and admit defeat by one so much more commanding than I.

Sometimes, I soar on the wings of an eagle- or an Oriole to be more precise- because of my love for one so alive, it's heart pounding a beat in my soul.

Once, the Boy and I had a discussion about the Red Hot Chili Peppers- "Really," He said incredulously, "How many songs can you write about one city?"

About this city, My Friends, I could write a lifetime and never cease the flutter of my heart when I look out on it. Rain, Snow, Wind, or Sunshine, Baltimore glistens for me like newly dewed grass. She calls me out with familiar sounds, smells, tastes, loves. She wraps me warm and safe and promises, quietly, "Tomorrow, My Child, Tomorrow." And Tomorrow breaks upon my and deposits it's wave in my sand, washing away the old and giving to me the new, innervating the life that I have.

Tomorrow ebbs and flows and doesn't think or feel, but My City thinks and feels and breaths an grows with me. My Balitmore crashes against me, changing me, smoothing out my rough edges.

When I was in Fells point this weekend, I was dreaming a dream aloud I always nurse, a dream to own a piece of my city and to work it for It's benefit. To use this city as it uses me- carefully, and to benefit every tomorrow. My acute longing stung me bitterly. The timing isn't right for my desires and my hopes falling, my City whispered comfortingly, "Tomorrow, Child, Tomorrow..."

It may not be the right time, but I will wait, patiently- as patiently as a bridegroom waits for his Bride- for Baltimore to tell me when tomorrow is come.Then I can be glad a rejoice in it, a revel in our Gains and Graces.

Lips of an Impressionist

"Young, have you ever been in love before?" Benny turned up her face to glare at the flickering light, as if willing it in her glance to turn out completely, or shine on brightly to illuminate her words that sat on the thick midnight air of the diner. Seeing no effect on the light, she turned her eyes to Young, impatiently waiting his thoughful response. Why did he always keep her waiting for him?

"I have... but I don't know how much it matters." Young thought back to the beauty, the pain, the love of long ago dreams and in an instant they were gone and his vision cleared. He watched Benny raise her coffee cup to her lips and noticed somethign that in all their friendship he had never seen before.

Benny's lips appeared to him, carressing the coffee cup with a pillowy soft fullness. Out of some far off corner in his mind, Young remembered a dream he had had- something about loving her. Something about taking her up in his arms and holding her close for a midnight kiss. As instantly as his mind removed the slide show of past loves, hurts and follies, Young was suddenly finding the smallest things about Benny to cherish.

The flush of her pink cheek stuck out in his mind. Had she been a painting in motion, a perfect pastel Renoir, floating before him all this time? Had her eyes always glittered back from her smooth complexion, sending a sparkling glimmer over the upper half of her face? Had her lips always seemed so perfectly tinted, turned just so as they were in a thoughtful smile?

"Yes Benny, I was very in love with a girl once who broke my heart." Could it be that in her soft natural beauty, Benny had tamed Young John? Was she holding reins that belonged to her all this time?

"You know, Young, I think that is the very first time you have ever told me what was on your heart."

I would tell you every thought I ever owned if you would just let me hold your plump sweet lips in a perfect kiss long enough for my soul to escape my body and capture the embrace on the canvas of my mind, in a carefree impressionistic way.