January Rising

This chill mid-winter wind startles

the last of Summer’s leaves loose,

a surging flow in flight,

from trees clustered along my homeward drive.

 

Twisting together, like smoke, they move

and wind along and above this darkening lane Continue reading “January Rising”

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Standing Back to Back

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We stand together at the brink of December’s end. The year of 2017 is lurching, exhausted, to a close.  With a mix of relief and of trepidation I prepare to turn the last calendar page of 2017 to uncover January 2018.  I feel more than a bit hesitant to let another year in after the chaos we are preparing to sweep out the door. Continue reading “Standing Back to Back”

Away from Lost

universetangleSome days.

Some tangled problems

you leave behind

unsolved, unresolved

behind in time and in space.

Some days, you give permission

to walk away.

Some day you find you are free

then, you are found.

–UniverseCheck.

Photo Credit: Anita Bowen Photography

Ball Points

The sign says, ‘Ball Point Trail’.

“Who names a hiking trail after a pen?” I wonder as we pull into the gravel parking lot.

I imagine some historic ball point pen inventor or maybe a writer. I consider a famous historical, nature-loving philosopher with deep, deep thoughts regarding  pens.

bullpoint

But, on second glance, the sign reads, ‘Bull Point Trail’, not as interesting as a trail named after writing utensils. Continue reading “Ball Points”

Morning Blue

The radio calls from across the dark bedroom. It’s just loud enough to break the web of sleep and is carefully set to a station too irritating to ignore. The walk around the bed, the reach for the tiny ‘off’ button is enough to lift me into a new day. Too dark to see the dawn, yet it’s surely on the way. Birds are just beginning, hesitantly, to call.

The seed of a new day is planted each night. I picture myself reaching under the pillow to grasp it, the promise of a new day. There is only one each morning and it is ours to ignore, or use, or waste and throw away. If I remembered more often, that each one is a gift, one of only a limited number, I imagine I’d be wiser with each day.

However, it’s easy to blink through the morning, sigh through the afternoon, and ease into bed at the end wondering what happened to the day. What did happen to the day?

“Pay attention”, said all my teachers, ever. “Pay attention.” I yawn as I stumble through another morning and stand, blinking, for the shower to warm enough to step into. There are only so many rainy afternoons, so many evenings with friends. And, yes, only so many dark and chilly mornings. The question isn’t how many.

The question is, what to do with this gift we are given. What to do with this one day, this one morning, this one minute, this one gift.

UniverseCheck.

Photo Credit: Anita Bowen Photography

 

Moth at Midnight

The full moon lit the hallway at midnight. I was still half asleep when I stepped out into the hall and was groggily surprised to meet a man with a sword. He was side-stepping, cautiously toward the bathroom; I was just thirsty.

And there was my son, looming tall, home for Spring Break, and armed in the middle of the night, laughing quietly.  Of course.

“It’s in there.” He whispers gesturing with, what I see now is, a wooden kitana. The sword, I notice blearily, has been improved with the addition of a ruler attached to the end. It’s clamped to the end of the sword, clamped with a Staples alligator clamp. Of course.image

“It’s really big and it’s so loud.” He grabbed the flexible ruler and twanged it with a sproing sound. “Aren’t you glad you sent me to college?” He laughed.

Okay, I’m barely awake and not prepared for these kind of deep questions. I just want a drink of water. I kind of don’t want to know what’s loud and threatening in the bathroom at midnight. I don’t know what you plan to do with the sproinging Kitana to subdue the invader.image

I decide I’m not equipped to face the upstairs bathroom and whatever has taken up residence and turn to forage downstairs for a drink. It might or might not be water at this point, it’s too weird upstairs.

But, my son keeps laughing quietly as he stalks the bathroom and I see his hand-crafted distance weapon. But, in the other hand, I see a cup. “It’s a bug.” He whispers.

He’s planned ahead. One hand defends himself from the creepy, loud bug; the other hand is for mercy. He intends to catch and release the bug, whatever it is, into the night.image

Aren’t you glad you sent me to college? We both laugh in whispers. I take the cup and he covers me, leaning into the doorway above me. I trap the spooky moth and we release it into the moonlight.

One hand for protection, the other for kindness. Aren’t I glad? Yes, yes I am. Of course.