My musings on life, loss and nature
Are you still there?
I had to disappear for a while.
Away from the bright lights, and the social scroll.
Away from the work, away from the brush,
Away from the public face.
Hidden for a while, yet amidst the arms of my siblings, my friends, the soft breath of my mother.
Amidst the rocks that fasten me to this world, with names I've known since the beginning that are uttered in my sleep.
Amidst the memories and photos of one so dear now lost.
Amidst the yellow yellow door now turned grey.
Amidst the footsteps and the paths he trod,
My face now wet for one that now exists in the ether.
Amidst the birds and the trees, the benches now stand alone.
Amidst the blackberries and the glass drained of wine,
Amidst the ash and the fireplace - the hearth heart of our home.
Feeling only half present as the rest floats behind the veil of grief.
The Winds of Change
Some weeks we feel small,
And others we feel expansive.
Listening to the seeds of change
as they push my comfort zones.
Can I stay safe in the pod,
Clinging to the stem,
But then I’ll just wither and dry, no chance to be anew.
Or do I trust the wind to hold me in its gracious cloak
and plant me exactly where I dreamed I’d be.
The time before loss
How is it that the world seems brighter when we think we're saying goodbye?
How is it that the autumnal leaves glow with a luminosity as they leave their mother tree?
How is that love seems more urgent when there is distance?
How is it that the flowers can stand in such beauty while they decay?
How is it that beauty and decay exist as one?
How is it that nature patiently tells us over and over that we all exist in a beautiful cycle of life? That which has gone exists in the new.
It is the lifetime of missing, a grief hard to bear.
With love for those who are there.
Ode to my January
Weather so dark day break never comes.
Rain so furious it’s tongue lashes a saturated earth.
Flowing down rivers that have long broken their banks.
Drops on the window a repetitive pattern.
The world outside a kaleidoscope of prisms.
Wintering at it’s peak.
Soft quiet days of thoughts too deep.
An empty space my sister had filled for a few special weeks.
The to do list so long for when the new year came,
It’s burden felt at the very first step.
Enough, she said, leave that great load. Dump it out just like the rain.
Abandon all oughting, or shoulding, or needing.
Step up, step out, it’s just a simple decision.
Soak up the rain, her passion for life, with all its darkness and light.
Her lashes of love for a burnt out earth.
Each drop a universe of it’s own.
November
It is Saturday morning and this is what I know:
Water was traded for woods,
The fog so dense the drips from the tree sound like rain.
Golden paws caked in mud,
Black nose alive with scent.
I showed up and I listened:
The golden crown sparrow had much to say,
The coyote out of sight, called to his pack.
But is my star still waiting by the pool?
The blue lines straight without the glide of my stroke.
The lurid light shining for someone else.