The snow falls
heavily all night
like a snuggly warm comforter or blankets piled high,
thickly covering trees, shrubs, bushes, and grass.
Mother Nature says, “Close your eyes. Rest your weariness. Take time to gain your strength for spring.
“Hush now. It’s time to sleep.”
No wonder snow is so quiet.
Boxes of newspaper wrapped dishes,
and shielded glass in picture frames
reminds me
I’ve resided here for half my life.
More frequent moving in more youthful days
not needed or necessarily desired —
right now.
Unless I could turn my back
and be there
immediately
without sorting through stuff.
Taking only recollections with me
in the boxes of my mind.
Thumbing through stored clothes
my consciousness wanders
through seasons…styles…
Is this too vintage?
Is there vintage vintage — like my racy aunt’s 1940’s blazer that I’ve preserved for another 40 years…
…or my mother’s creepy high heels that mimicked the Wicked Witch of the West’s?
Time periods,
events,
come running back
like a long ago lover
I’ve forgotten to miss.
Each dress recreates a juncture,
a feeling,
that I don’t want to discard…
doing so feels too dementia-like.
Protective plastic covers up
confectionery scenes —
that captured job interview,
unforgettable party,
spellbinding date…
…preserving
a lifetime of memories
dangling
in the closet
of my mind.
September tugs at August
October overshadows September.
Leaves falling in August
a premature ejaculation of autumn
leaves one unfulfilled
and looking to September
for more.
More warmth, more comfort,
a lingering embrace
to hold on
to the moments of bliss.
As an adult, I love September
and August too.
It’s just too soon
to feel this cool
like the afterglow
dissipating before daylight,
or a lover
tacitly
closing the door.
September, where are you
in October’s shadow?
The tomatoes are as green
as my naiveté
the scarce flowers
say goodbye…
It’s too soon to feel this cool.
Sadness hangs in the air
like unripened fruit,
July leaves gyrating brown,
their youth lost
before prime.
Not ready
to
let
go.
Summer is over
before full bloom —
the whirlwind pursuit
with lackluster end.
Sun warming
Breeze cooling
Skin.
Eyes scanning
Unripened green to apple rose’
Locking in
The prized deep purply blue.
Wind chimes whisper
Somewhere nearby
Cars whoosh
Momentarily
Here and there.
Children laugh
And ring the bell.
Sun warming
Breeze cooling
Skin.
Eyes scanning
Each ripened berry
In view.
Totally in the moment
There’s no other place I’d rather be.
The past and the future
Do not exist
In the berry patch.
Raised in an anxiety-ridden home, it was stressful to live in the “now.” Far better to prepare for “what’s next,” I thought, even with its own undercurrent of anxiety.
A friend recently invited me to a year-long meditation but the voluminous information and instant marketing hype quickly drove me away. Unsettling. Like when I attempted meditation years ago in the standard seated position. Arduous. As soaking in a tub. Has this happened to you? Meditation offers many benefits but feeling stressed is not the goal.
Far more agreeable to me, are movement meditations such as hand drumming, walking, or being in the moment with Mother Nature. Fixed on berry picking, the smell of sun-ripening tomatoes and basil brushing my arm, or the infinite colors and textures of nature are far more relaxing and in-the-moment experiences for me.
One size doesn’t fit all. In many things, but meditation too. Giving myself permission to discover what works for me is key. Don’t know where to begin? Try leaving the cell phone behind and taking a walk outside. You may be pleasantly surprised by the calm in connecting with Mother Nature.
Feature photo by Jens Böhm from Pixabay
I communicate in many languages. But my lexicon doesn’t contain words per se. No, I’m not talking about texting but of a communication so beautiful no words are necessary.
In seasonal poetry gatherings each of us brings a random poem to read aloud. The words we share are not our own but the understanding we glean from the words of others. While some may be serious, others witty, or thought provoking — and on any topic of choosing, a common thread soon appears. Ah, no doubt the Universe is at play here we chuckle each time we recognize the unintentional theme that connects us together.
The languages I convey do not use technology, social media, or heaven forbid a cell phone. A verbal silence in hand drumming makes room for magic. When words do not appear, the voice of the drums speaks profoundly through our creative energy. Rhythms intertwine, calling, responding, supporting, expressing, wandering, somewhere…but together.
Standing in my kitchen, I cook. My focus is lovingly preparing a tasty meal, and setting a table that honors the food and the ones it nourishes. Sitting together then and savoring this offering of utilitarian sensory art reveals the unseen ingredient.
Sharing the bounty of my garden, holding the door open for someone, offering a smile, anyone can understand. I do not need to say one word to communicate with anyone anywhere. All of us can speak the same language when we do not use words.
Viewing
the single boat
on the lake
this early morning,
I feel the love
of solitude
as when I step into the garden,
coffee in hand,
dew spritzing my toes,
and waking up
to enter another page
of contemplative gratitude.
Someone read a poem today.
That made me think
The winding road
is
our lives.
Many of us reach the same destination.
Albeit different ways,
Different paths, whys, hows,
with different words
for the same concept —
a nearly same experience.
Isn’t that the wonder of our uniqueness
yet sameness?
We begin a path, a book, a plan,
then change course
for whatever reason.
A break-up.
Job loss.
Dying desire
to live
one’s passion.
Altering our course
we may step back
and the change brings greater challenges
we did not forsee
ahead
yet we gain along the way
from what we did not know,
And then it is behind us.
Why focus on the end
when we never know
when
the end will truly be?
I would love to live
Like a river flows,
Carried by the surprise
Of its own unfolding.
