Me, you ask? I am who I am. I'm online to meet someone who has that rare combination of character, artistry, humility and a zest for life. I think of online dating as not dissimilar from any other way to meet a person -- whether it be in the grocery checkout, the coffee shop, or while following a similar pursuit of interest. It's just the modern way.
That being said, if you're here, in this tiny box, trolling for some form of "encounter", I'm not yur girl. I have values and morals and ethics.
A self-summary...what is that? Can you really hope to say briefly all that a person is? I'll try.
I'm a natural woman. I am who I am. There's no pretense. I'm a lover of life and all things simple and natural. I dig this planet, nature, music, staying healthy and fit, making soup. I embrace kismet, think that all things are meant to be, that we live in a very ordered universe so it just makes sense. I enjoy following my intuition, learning and creating...
This is where you will find me...in High Park...
I am slowly recovering from my dislocated my right shoulder. I go to physiotherapy twice a week and my occupational therapist twice a week, and she works on my right hand. My the little finger on my right hand is still a little numb, but I'm having more and more sensation in my little finger. before I am able to return. I am well on the way to recovery. And I'm looking forward to returning to work. Please keep me in your prayers. And thank you for thinking of me my wonderful friends.
I'm a freelance transcriptionist by profession, it's how I pay the rent. But I'm so much more...ask me, I'll tell you...
Here are some poems I have written:
Night full of rain
damp on my window
wind in a sensuous
flowing soft billow,
cool of the rain
painting my neck
feel of the water
the water so wet
(July 25, 2012)
As I walked in the silence of the night wind
the stars above watched me,
in the blue-black
I could feel them on me
as they followed my shadow
like some moonlit echo
I bathed in the comfort of their glow
Pity the neighbours
who list with jealous ears
yet cannot see the silhouette
of your body rise and fall dipping into me,
who only know, by manner of fantasy, a taste of what we know,
and in your delicate entrance repeatedly deep within my body
each descent more lovely than the prior
poems -- words pouring over our minds
as we pour over each other
dip and fall,
dip and fall...
moan, dip and fall,
"More, I want more. Never stop"...
words echo'd in a quiet room
with silent candles glowing,
bodies wet with perspiration
moist with body juices
yes, my love,
t'would be heaven
in that bed
I'd share with you,
yet pity the neighbours who with envious ears list on...
I feel I am the heroine in this lovely work of art
by Patrick Lane
We search the hours for solitude,
the quiet of herons in their sleep,
a fisher on the wing who falls into the waves in search of silver
or a woman making her way through mist in early morning,
delicate as water.
We search for this, a small stone in the tide,
a broken shell, a crab so still we think it prays,
its claws raised to our hands as if what we wait for is return.
What do we do with our hours?
We reach for what comes to us in quiet.
There is in us a need for silence.
Look at the woman who is heron in her mind.
She has made of life a silence.
See how she holds all her life in her eyes.
She walks among stones.
Far from her in the tidal reach, birds rise into light.
Who goes to her but herself?
What she has held is hers and hers alone:
to watch the quiet of herons, a kingfisher falling from all the sky,
there is upon the quiet she gives only to herself,
a beach whose medicine is hers and hers
So many...ask and I'll tell you...
I'm not like other people -- I don't follow the crowd...I'm a very independent original thinker...
So I find myself needing to post from my all-time favourite poet, Robert Frost:
Wind and Window Flower
LOVERS, forget your love,
And list to the love of these,
She a window flower,
And he a winter breeze.
When the frosty window veil
Was melted down at noon,
And the cag'ed yellow bird
Hung over her in tune,
He marked her through the pane,
He could not help but mark,
And only passed her by,
To come again at dark.
He was a winter wind,
Concerned with ice and snow,
Dead weeds and unmated birds,
And little of love could know.
But he sighed upon the sill,
He gave the sash a shake,
As witness all within
Who lay that night awake.
Perchance he half prevailed
To win her for the flight
From the firelit looking-glass
And warm stove-window light.
But the flower leaned aside
And thought of naught to say.
And morning found the breeze
A hundred miles away.
how beautiful this planet is...