Posted in Musings, Photography, Poetry

Abandoned Voices

Abandoned Voices #2
I can’t keep the magic
happening
while the sky peels
back the gray.
Instead, I make an appointment
to speak to Dr. Such
and so the moment
melts away.

Same scene. Second glance. A vision that keeps turning my head. To walk the valley is difficult. To rise above circumstances, a feat.

The answers to life are buried deep inside each of us. It is the voices we tend to hear that promise love or hope or gifts that steer us off course. We tremble at conflict and derision and loss.

What magic do you hold inside that keeps you moving toward a goal? And when do you become an enemy to prized dreams and visions? What setbacks or traps have you allowed to sabotage your destination?

The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.

W.B. Yeats

Posted in Memoir, Musings, Poetry, quotes, Soul Journal

thinker and willow

Photo: Hands in the Garden

Willow sway -no other tree,
hiding secrets -you and me.

Gently gliding, dancing free,
inviting patrons to listen…

feel the breeze.

I love other blogger’s posts that take me back in time. Personal time.

When my Anna was born, we planted a willow in the backyard to commemorate her future. It was a twig, no more than a 1/2″ circumference and about 3 feet tall. It grew quickly, soaking up the swampy spot in the yard. In less than six years, it stood over 15 feet tall and 3 feet around. It was a magical playground. Summer picnics and stories, shared with stuffed toys and imaginary friends, were abundant.

Being a soft-wood tree makes it easy prey to storms. One fateful summer, her willow was blown over. Everything inside me was invested in that tree… and in her. Lost to the wind… My dreams for my daughter were broken.

It was prophetic, that summer storm, but I was too busy to hear.

Tragedy has struck more times than I dare count. Grief is my dearest friend. Hope is but a splash of dew that fails to quench desire. Joy is bittersweet.

Even this week has been countless disasters; small and large. Seems silly. To think storms break us, but they do. Even the small storms are difficult to overcome.

Who knows the future? The only way we stop mistakes is to consider the past. Resilience, like the willow, comes from making our roots deep.

So, as the hummingbird who sits through the storm, head down, in prayer, I face the world which threatens me daily, knowing love overcomes all.

may my faith always be
at the end of the day

like a hummingbird…returning
to its favorite flower.

–Sanober Khan, Turquoise Silence