A Change

It’s subtle, but the signs appear.

Cooler evenings. Dew on grass.

Leaves waving, a branch bending, colors changing.

The sky changes, the air thins, the sun weakens.

A season ending, a season beginning.

Missing the old, embracing the beauty of the new.

Like a raging toddler to a calmer kindergartener,

From clumsy puppy to a stately dog.

Miss the old, embrace the new.

From running swiftly, to aching muscles,

From fresh ideas to reminiscing.

dog on concrete road
Photo by Daniel Frank on Pexels.com

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From youth to old.

Miss the old, embrace the new.

Next Year’s Bloom

Dear beautiful, grey, mild, temperate, and moody Seattle,

Remember when we first met? I was the girl with a ready smile and wave. That is how I arrived. Unaware, talkative and naive, but eager nonetheless.

You wooed me with your water, delicious and sweet.

You freshened me with your breeze, crisp and floral.

Summer came and more gifts you bestowed.

Mountains unveiled and waters blued. Forests came alive, vegetation unearthed.

Elms, Spruce, Cherry trees and Douglas fir cover the land.

Rosemary, daffodils and tulips fed my nose on my daily walks.

Later, dasies, multi-colored roses, and rododendrons colored the land.

Diablo, dahlias, hydrangea and lilies clothed in vibrancy.

As my eyes scanned the flora, my thoughts rose upward to the Creator

Skies of pink, and shimmering gold braiding the most blue skies.

Then came the fall with its rusty hue and chill. It came to stay and chased the sun away. The dark and grey days began and quickly wore out their welcome.

Winter ensued,  leaves falling staging the piney greens. Morning dew crystalized leaves and giving runners a smokey breath.

Inside, blankets and books littered the table while cocoa warmed the hands.

The longing for flowers became a constant dream. I can’t wait until they come…are they here yet? Will today’s sun hold any warmth?

Day after bone chilling day and skin’s tan all the way faded, body fattened and hiding in thickened fibers.

But even then, the beauty remained.

On a rare sunny morning, I glimpsed the mountains in all their “Swiss” beauty They waved a hello and longed for a visitor.

When I bared the cold, and shared the crispy paths with others, I filled my lungs with sharp, biting winds which helped clear the past.

In the wind, I heard, “You’re released.”
I smiled with parched lips, but teared up as the season wrapped up, a promise of another spring affirmed.

I stood…gazing again, stopping. Not wanting to turn away, I looked on, imagining the return of a season in Seattle and realizing then that I would miss next years bloom.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lettuce pray…

I had a bout of insomnia a week ago and in the course of that fitful night, an image much like a repeating meme came to my mind.

My (meme) was of a head of romaine lettuce being cut with a pair of kitchen scissors and no matter which way I tried to fall asleep, I kept seeing lettuce being snipped.

(I know, crazy right?)

I finally fell asleep, but in the morning, the image came to mind.

I often feel like God talks to me through my dreams, but an image, or vision of lettuce??

What could the God of the universe have to say through greens?

I felt compelled to put salad on the menu for the coming week. I bought romaine lettuce and other salad ingredients and was ready.

The day came for salad and I eagerly “stepped up to the plate” a little to eager with scissors in my right hand and dripping freshly washed head of romaine in my left hand –salad spinner on the counter.

I shook the head of lettuce over the sink to remove the excess water and before plunging in with the scissors, I gazed at the innocent head of lettuce, took a breath and began the snipping. Just as I thought, the snipping sound itself gave a satisfaction. I smiled as I snipped, snipped and snipped again.

As more and more leaves fell into the salad spinner, the core of the romaine became smaller and lighter. I cut again until just the heart was left, devoid and bald in my hand.

I then put the scissors down and inspected the heart. I turned it around and looked at the stump. After a minute, I very satisfactorily chunked it into the trash can.

I went back to the salad spinner, filled it with water, drained it and began pumping the water out. I used this time to think about what just happened and then fitting words came to my mind. I felt content, satisfied.

I continued spinning the leaves until they were only damp and left the kitchen counter smiling.

It is complete.

Melodious

I put the solo piano station on Pandora in order to progress through the pages of a novel, but instead of words, I envision alternate realities.

I’m a slender ballet dancer alone in the studio, practicing plies on the barre, but I could also just as passionately, be found in the lab, again alone, studying images of the brain in curious exploration.

I’m also an artist at work in the studio, again solo, lifting, smoothing, spreading and blending hues until they return to me colorful arrays.

More often than not, and to some, not as esteemed, the melodies conjure the memories. I’m giving baths, caressing a head, I’m reading while also enjoying the warmth of a small child pressing into my lap and in step with the tempo, I see the trio laughing, skipping, climbing and exploring.

I’m a mother.

 

 

Traverse

 

It drives me to the coast of Rhome

It grants me passage to the peaks.

It yearns to harness nightly waves.

But, there in sleep, defenseless, I dream.

Then, realizing, I breathe and then turn away.

Awake, I rise from the warmth of the eve and rise to tangle in worlds unknown,

Traversing to corners and cultures new.

In woods and paths unknown, I unravel wounded threads,

Pass and intrude. In a gentle sweeping and uncovering, it’s trapped.

Hidden, trapped, desiring release.

I rest, waiting. Sometimes it comes.

I rest, waiting. Sometimes it flees.

Seeking. It can’t always be hidden.

 

A small gift of time

 

It’s given to us generously and we often take it for granted until we find ourselves with a lack of it. We fill our time with this and that. We dream of desires to do this and that when we steal a bit of time for ourselves. But, often, we don’t even do those things. *Guilty*

We sweep the floor, we shop for gifts, hang the stockings, wash the clothes, etc., but am I remembering that even those busy times are still times that others wish they had. While we stay busy, others suffer a time they hadn’t asked for and resent what has been given. Holiday time shouldn’t be for mourning, crying, or sitting alone. It shouldn’t involve being cold, hungry or desperately addicted.

Be still and know that He is God and we are not. But we can be guides, messengers, and vehicles for his love and healing. Am I listening to the voice that says “Allow yourselves to be used. Speak words of kindness, encouragement and peace to others who need it.”

I’ll try. If nothing else is produced in me, then please God, let it be that I can bring peace to another, kindness, and above all, love.

~Peace.

 

 

 

Friday thoughts

Many thoughts swirling around and it’s Friday, a somber Friday. A 9-11 Friday. Where was I? I was in my suburbia home in Texas with my three small children gathered around the television just as many that day were. I had just listened to a message from my husband that he’d left early on the answer machine. He was in Florida on a business trip. His voice and breathing sounded strained, and fearful and it got my heart racing.

I turned on the television and was watching with my children trying to put together what my husband said in the message with what I was viewing live on television. The scene was playing again and again and the towers were smoking, but still standing. I’m sure my children had begun playing, but I could see they were also noting the distress in my countenance.

I stayed watching, listening to the reports and thinking, “Oh my, this is war!” and just as I was thinking a thought like this, I saw on the television as the first tower fell and I couldn’t believe it. It came down in waves and I was horrified thinking of all the people who were in it, around it and under it. I looked at the innocent faces of my young children and they were looking at me putting my hand to my chest and shaking my head. I decided reluctantly to turn it off at that moment. They like me had just witnessed a horrific, deadly scene.

I wanted to keep watching because I wondered what else might happen and what other building might be struck, and to make sure we were safe, but I couldn’t subject my children to this reality anymore. I wanted them to keep playing and to laugh and smile to help keep the normalcy in our home.

Sometime that day, my husband would call back and tell me that it would be days before I saw him because he would not be flying, but instead car pooling his way back to Texas with his co-workers. There would be no flying for a while. I was both thankful to hear his voice and grateful that we were alive when so many had lost their lives, but also I just wanted to be near him and to be held by him so that I could fall apart.

My thoughts and prayers are with all those involved. No, we didn’t forget.

~Peace.