A Perfect Birthday Present

January 30-31,2010

Thank You for another day, another year.
As I wake, the skies are gray
and seemingly pregnant with snow
waiting to coat everything
with a confectionery beauty.


Snow will be a perfect birthday present,
for it has a beauty all its own
and a quiet that stills all busyness.


Yesterday's clouds have given way
to today's bright sunny morning and trees
glazed with fine remnants
of white, powdery snow.

Icicles hang like crystal spears
from the edge of Shannon's roof.
The oak leaves cluster,
and the holly supports the snow
as with cupped hands.

Yesterday, I greeted an exquisite bluejay
and an up-sized, fluffy robin
as they perched--just for a moment--
on their way to finding shelter from the snow.

In the midst of the snowstorm,
You provided shelter and sustenance
for even the smallest birds.

Staying inside in my shelter
made me reflect on my years
of blessings disguised as challenges,
of hard-learned lessons,
of disappointments and accomplishments

I made with Your help,

of world catastrophes
and personal dark nights,
of being able to touch the lives
of my and other children
to encourage them into
positive personhood.

Prayers do not have a life span.

February 1

Just imagine.

Today is the first day of the second month

of the second decade

of the millineum.

The snow from my birthday present is still aground,

waiting for that forecast in the next few days.

There is a wind that agitates

the oak leaves clustered together,

and the sun makes shadows

against the closet wall.

A tree branch just fell in the front yard,

and the wind sings its own mournful song,

a fitting tribute to fallen brances and trees.

The sun on the Christmas cactus

highlights roots

at every juncture of leaves.

It is a pleasure sitting

and being able to enjoy the stillness.

I look out the window

and see the tracks

of either a cat or one of the raccoons

in the snow beside the house.

The trees cradle snow against their trunks,

and every now and then,

a clump of snow plops down

or fans itself out in a powder.

The street is mostly clear,

but still slushy at the edges.

I like to see the snow

but not necessarily be out in it.

A platinum sun peeks from behind the clouds,

but it looks like cold metal.

The city and trees lie

swaddled like sleeping infants.

The soft snow from last night,

like a baby's receiving blanket,

wraps everything

in cleanliness and purity.

This is the kind of snow

that graces art pieces,

and God, You know all of the skills

of artists who struggle

to capture Your perfection.

I am awed by the beauty spread before me.

I'm going to put on some clothes

and take the cameras out

as soon as I finish writing.

The words, "How lovely art Thou dwelling place"

keep playing in my head

and will probably be the title

of this set of photographs and poems.

I'll write more once I come back inside,

but the transitoriness of this snow

is too precious not to be recorded.

11:50 p.m. What beautiful pictures I took!

I used the four-pronged cane for stability

and took pictures of the areas

surrounding the house.

What a diiference a day makes.

Yesterday morning, everything appeared

a frosted fairyland, and today

the frosting is gone, eaten perhaps

by the fairies of the land and trees.

I am thankful You allowed me

the opportunity to stand

surrounded by Your artisitic magnificence.

A play on Robert Frost's poem:

The woods are bright and white,

and I must capture them while still it is light.

I have pictures to take

and thanks to give before I sleep.

I love the quiet of the early morning;

it gives me time to record

my paper prayers before

the busyness of the day begins.

Thursday's cloudiness forecasts
Friday's coming storm.
As I rode the recumbent bike yesterday morning,
I counted 85 robins taking the sun
in my neighbor's three trees.

As my husband and I returned from a long ride,
a flock of robins and starlings peopled
the grass beside the park.

Before the weather gets too bad,
I need to put out some birdfood.
Birds alsways remind me
of Your munificence.

Thank You for critters
and weather that changes,
for trees that transform,
and for the continuity of life's cycles.

11:15 a.m.
The snow has begun, soft, tiny, quick-moving flakes.
This Saturday morning, I look out with awe and humility
at the most beautiful snowstorm
I think I have ever seen.

We are experiencing blizzard conditions
and expecting maybe 40" of heavy snow.
I shall take more pictures today and tonight
and on through the weekend.

All I can say is AWESOME!
The trees bow down to acknowledge Your omnipotence.
It's raining snow as I gaze at Shannon's hill.
No sounds. No traffic. The snow muffles anything
that might shatter the silence of the morning.

The window screens are splotched with snow.
Tree brances are studies in black and white,
and strong winds shake the hollies.

Most of the oak leaves, however, maintain their grasp.
Soon, they, too, will fall and replenish the recycling of themselves.
"Nothing is either created or destroyed,
only transformed to another state."

The city is closed down.
Not even public transportation is moving.
Now is the perfect time to hunker down
and to sit and be thankful for all the blessings
we take forgranted every day.

Icicles are beginning to form on Shannon's roof.
I guess they will be almost a yard long
before the week is out.

Sunday morning. Bright sun and blue skies
Pristine snow piled high on trees and ground all around.
Oak leaves covered with snow huddled together, holding on--
Icicles glistening like crystal spears,

Robins who hung around
looking like they're saying to each other,
"We shudda gone south."

Bits of diamond flakes flit by,
disturbed by quieter winds,
Record-breaking snows blanket the earth
and give all living things a time to hunker down,
to observe, and to be thankful for all blessings so often ignored.

A time of quiet thanksgiving is at hand. Hallelujah!
These last two days have seen
phenomenally beautiful snows that
have closed down the whole metropolitan area.

There have also been challenges wrought by the storm:
my childhood church, the 102 years old former Zion Baptist,
collapsed under the weight of the snow and a fallen branch;
an elementary school, an ice skaiting rink,
and an airplane hangar at Dulles Airport collapsed also.

The collapse of Zion is sad, but with insurance,
the building will be rebuilt.
No one was injured or killed
when these buildings collapsed, a blessing in itself.

Many people were left without heat or power,
and many trees or branches blocked roadways and driveways.
A time of laying in, family time, is at hand.

I've taken photos of each snowfall,
but never have I seen one as beautiful as this latest storm.
We are quietly closed in.
We have a chance first just TO BE;
nothing demands our attention.

I am grateful for and awed
by the beauty all around me.

Memories of a Child of the Age of Radio

I am sitting in my room on my favorite place:

the dark cobalt and burgundy rug,

which my Mom called “the lint-catcher,”

the rug which I called “my magic carpet.”

The radio is on

and I feel the goosebumps rise

as the theme music

for The Shadow starts.

Even though I know

it’s not for real,

the creaking door transports me,

trembling and listening,

with my eyes closed,

to another place, another time.

Now I am immersing myself

as the voice menacingly rasps,

“The Shadow knows. Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh.”

I want to know what the Shadow knows,

but I’m afraid even to find out.

If I had known then what I know now,

I probably would have

made myself pursue the craft

of script-writing,

and I would have started

to think about how

someday, one day,

I’d hear my words coming over the airways.

The Blizzard of 2009

Snow lays heavy on branches, normally gray,

transformed into blackened arms and ebon legs.

Like a summer storm, snow rains down

in flakes large as dimes and small as grains of sand.

The remaining oak leaves shiver and bow down

as the wind seems to encourage them

to let go, to move on, to give in to their inevitable demise.

The evergreens are frosted, and they, too,

shiver and shake but stand tall against the winds.

All sounds are muffled on the street.

It’s an official snow day; everything’s closed down

as we hunker deeper under the covers,

turn up the heat, and give thanks

for the basic necessities of food and shelter.

It is amazing how ordinary things

take on extraordinary appearances

when embraced by snow.

Even window screens wear

polka dots of snow blown onto them.

When I first woke around 4 a.m.,

the outside was transformed

into what could have been a stage set

for a winter extravaganza,

such was the thickness of snow waiting for the winds.

This year, we may have a white Christmas,

for this early nor’easter will probably leave

enough snow to last through the coming week.

Snowflakes are larger now.

They look like popcorn and cotton balls.

So much artistry and such breathtaking beauty

leave me in awe and gratitude

for changes of the seasons

and the variables of weather.

I am blessed, in perfect health, and in love with life.

Thank You for blessings past, present, and on the way.

Day Two

Last night, the snowstorm ended.

This morning the sun shines brightly on “the new fallen snow”

that covers everything in white slipcovers.

A man with a snow shovel just knocked on the door,

and he will shovel the driveway

from the basement door to the street.

The wind is still up, and leaves

seem to be trying to keep warm by shivering.

Our houses look like Kincaid’s villages of light.

Snow now plops down the roofs and branches;

soon the branches will go back to their nakedness.

Crystal icicles over a foot long

hang from Shannon’s garage roof.

The wind stirs up a mini storm of snow

blown from its perch in the trees.

Only now, the remainders

hold on in clumps and clusters.

The sky is a bright, bright blue without clouds.

Highlighted by the sun

and covered o’er with the snow,

everything takes on a uniform purity.

The red holly berries send out

a contrasting siren song

against the evergreen of the holly

and the dun of the oak leaves.

Nineteen inches of snow now cover our yard.

The holly and the oak dance to and fro

as the wind makes dancers of any in its path.

“Everything is beautiful in its own way,”

the first line to a years’ old song

just popped into my consciousness.

I give thanks for perfect health,

Divine Order in my life and affairs,

love, compassion, patience, understanding,

enough to share and to spare,

and all other blessings past and present,

seen and unseen, and those yet to come.