Weekly is too often
while apple blossoms ripen
and words choke the heart.
Above, geese rise skyward
putting behind the folly
of man’s aimless trails.
I ride my bike for the first time
with November winds trailing
the spokes cutting through falling leaves
and smile-crowned pumpkin patches pass me by.
On a July morning, in the height of summer, the ants are busy on the sunflowers. Today, I wake to the same routine regardless of the weather. The coffee poured, I light a candle.
Glistening green in the sun’s heightened shadow, I wonder if i should write a letter to a friend. The thought fleeting. I don’t want to add my emotions to his already pocket full of pleas. I let my mind settle into this opened space. Drum out the crinkle of autumn leaves and find solace in my reverie.
When we return to the land, will our hearts be able? The hours bend into baskets, carrying our troubles downstream, where the beavers damn us for wanting freedom. Will we ever furnish a house with all our plans?
You see me. I love
my love in thought.
Can you know
the waiting fires the bones?
Last week was a whirlwind of activity. The chicks are changing drastically every day. Wing feathers are fully formed, downy fluff is molting, and their curiosity never ends. Every time I lift the brooder lid, they come running. They think every visit is feeding time. They are settled though, and like newborns, they need lots of restful sleep. It was then time I enjoyed some drinks on the back deck. And make a few wishes. Every thing in life seems to be solidifying. My dreams I have held so long are budding.
*****I am live this morning, writing on my back porch, looking out into a forest that stretches for an often visited 2-mile hike to reach a beloved pond. Sitting here, I cannot see the pond, or what is frolicking in the gentle breeze. But I suspect there might be a few geese, a heron fishing and a water creature causing ripples. Life. It is fragile and precious. This is but one day to celebrate what will never come around again.
At one juncture, the worn path to the pond crosses over a paved road, which causes one to be cautious, before embarking the final stretch of shaded wood, wildflowers, and bird song. All life congregates at the well. There, we are watered with physical needs as well as the spray of emotional and spiritual hope. If the pond dries up, life vanishes and moves elsewhere. If one remains, stagnation settles in and death occurs. Some will chose to die that day. Fear crowds out existence. Anger builds from fear.
I sip a cup of hot coffee, warming me up to the chilly start today. And present here are flocks of flitting Goldfinches eating River Birch seeds. This occurrence happens every June. In the same tree, a young squirrel is climbing to find if I have put out food. Cautious of my presence, he decides to ramble on. I take another sip of coffee and wonder. We need boundaries. We need to recognize our safe distance from others. Not to tread heavy-footed. But to be humble and listen. To understand and love.
Come sit on the bench and reflect with me. Where is your life heading? Are you ready to give into fate? Or will you push the ending far into the future? Life gives us multiple choices and opportunities to second guess motives, decisions and contemplate how best to achieve goals. What dreams and visions occupy your time? How will you be fed? And rested?
Until next week, shalom. Jeanne
The present day, particularly this morning, I was spiritually, mentally and emotionally engaged with Revelations 1:4-6. And something profound changed my outlook, which threatens my old way of being for the past 12 years.
That I have not been living in freedom is the absolute truth. I have been chained to fleshly desires that have threatened my peace. And I in turn have threatened others peace of mind.
I heard a knock this morning. It was a knock only for me. Although we all are given the invitation. Some of us recognize the offer, while others deny the sound as anything but reality.
And I answered. I entered a sanctuary where truth took hold of my soul. I released my grief and abandoned my grip on things that never belonged to me. They were a safety blanket that brought comfort and fellowship. But no relief. They were the fantasy of my efforts.
In the dark I can see. The light is my peace. And the peace resides in me. Manifests outwardly as a poetic life well lived. And unless I slip, which often occurs, I feel steady. I am steady today.
To tend the minute
winding details around time
mapping each morsel
Atop the rocky hill blooms one exquisite Lady Slipper. She, a Spring passage to Summer, and I haven’t switched over my Winter clothes.
Three days later pink color appears. Her cheeks ruddy and weathered from sunlight. She glows. A rare sight to behold. A lady has her ways.
The intricate life of the North American orchid ‘Cypripedium acaule’ fascinates. The flower lures bees with smell and color. Once inside the pouch, the bee realizes the store is empty and has only one way out. With such news, the trapped bee scurries to find the exit sign, whereupon pollen deposits and collects. https://www.fs.fed.us/wildflowers/plant-of-the-week/cypripedium_acaule.shtml
What do people know about us? Separate from what we have told, how can others know us? What symbiotic relationships do we pursue in order to fruit?