Some really bad poetry: Ode to the Humidity

Dear Humidity,

I left you in the South
And how my skin dried
All winter, I lamented
"The air is just too dry"

Then I bought a machine
To add moisture to the air.
All day and night it ran,
Faking Nature's flair.
But my nose and sinuses caught the deception
and said, "No! No! We want organic!"
Then caused me to panic.

And now with a hint of Spring
Happily it appears
Is it rain or steam?
Oh, humidity I feel you here.

I feel you in my hair, making all the styling obsolete.
I feel you in the elevator, making me worry about getting stuck and dying in a sauna with a stranger.
I feel you in my clothes, making all seams seem tighter and the ice cream less appealing.
I feel you on my skin, making my exercise seem more vigorous than taking three steps outside my door.

I left the South, but the humidity did not leave me.

Ode to the humidity that found my poor soul.

Sick Day

So I probably should have stayed home on Friday.  A head cold hit me at the beginning of last week and I kept chalking it up to dry air.

Really, I thought it was dry air.

It was "dry air" in my head until

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could excuse it any more

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didn't leave the house

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steamed my head like it was broccoli

...and finally felt better.

Breakfast at the Cinnamon Cafe on Lawrence

This is a place of beauty in food...oh, and it tastes great too.

It burned my heart when it close

Such a cruel thing

With no warning

the doors stopped opening

salt shakers still on the table

And was replaced with a place that doesn't believe in brunch

Atheists 

French restaurants

not believing in God is one thing,

not believing in brunch is another

For My Ambassador

We stand on the beach with feet in the sand
the tide bring the waves up and over us

each wave is different and last but the time it was meant

Some softly cover the feet with tickles
Others forcefully wet our knees
Few splash up with droplets reaching high

The shape of the sand around us changes
But our feet do not change
They stay as we put them as the landscape alters

We plant our feet in the beach
we stay until time to go

Enjoying each swell but knowing
another beach will always bring us similar joy
in another pattern of waves over our feet