THE SEASONS:
For everything, there is a season…
Barbara D. Parks-Lee
Copyright©2010 by Barbara D. Parks-Lee
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems without written permission from the author except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.
Cover and other photography by the author
ISBN 0-9655292-2-3
THE SEASONS:
For everything, there is a
season …
Barbara D. Parks-Lee
Acknowledgements
Always, thanks to the Omniscient Narrator of my Life, God.
This book of poetry was encouraged by Emma Brown and Dr. Frances J. Carter, my friends who demanded that I get outside my comfort level of just writing and begin to share my thoughts with others.
I thank them for their encouragement and editing suggestions.
My husband, Willie Lee, Jr., and my children, Claire and Clarence Parks, are always positive and patient, and I value their presence in my life.
Autumn:
A Time of Harvest and Reflection, A Mellow Time, A Resonant Reminder to Turn Within
Reverie
The fall of the year is my favorite time.
Trees dress up in party clothes—
Others wear leaves adorned with lipstick crimson.
The air is crisp at night, sometimes warm,
sometimes cool during the day.
A time of quiet settles o’er the earth.
Now a time of harvest and reflection
quietens the frenetic pace of other seasons.
Only winter is quieter, but its quiet is enforced.
Autumnal quiet is gradual, voluntary.
The first freeze bids biting bugs good-bye.
The acrid smell of wood smoke scratches the nose.
I relax in the routines of the season:
Putting out bird food, sweeping the walk free of leaves,
Settling in to await the changes yet to come.
Glimpses on an Early Fall Morning
A leaf, sliding quickly down the roof,
like a playful child on a sliding board;
Trees, some naked, others still fully clothed,
like silent sentinels against a gray sky;
Subdued russet, gold, and garnet leaves,
Shivering in the wind before un-up,
Like scantily clad aging party girls
Who have stayed out too long;
A horizon changing
from charcoal to dove gray to early dawn blue,
like a mood changing
from depression to the blues to joy;
quiet evergreens standing ageless, timeless,
and ever-present,
like the memories of days gone by
and of childhoods past.
1-13-‘93
The Crown of the Almighty
Like fat, yellow snowflakes
against a soft, blue sky
leaves drift, on an autumnal breeze,
softly, ever so softly, toward the earth.
A flash of crimson here,
a bit of russet and orange and burgundy yonder
announce the unending cycle
of death, renewal, and rebirth.
They go out on a blaze
of awe-inspiring, heart-thumping colors—
different from anything ever seen before,
yet somehow, the same.
The horizon, like fine, oriental carpets
or hand-woven tapestries too expensive
for just one to own,
intertwines the greens, browns, sumac reds, oranges, yellows—
Colors that glisten in the sunlight
after an evening’s rain,
royal jewels in the crown
of the Almighty.
10-15-93
Hush. The Storm Approaches
Smell the perfume of the storm;
Watch the leaves change from green to silver.
Listen as all living things quieten
and anticipate the coming storm.
The air moves in a different way
at the advent of the storm.
The clouds roll in,
and the first raindrops splatter
on the dry dust of parched summer’s day.
Birds wait out the shower
in the shelter of the trees.
The wind picks up,
and the sound of the rain increases.
Oh, wow! Did you see that gorgeous lightning bolt?
Listen to the orchestra of celestial tympani
as the peals of thunder
vibrate even the molecules of the soul.
It’s a quiet time—a time of renewal and cleansing.
The rain’s crescendo becomes pianissimo.
The first birdsong signals the storm’s end,
and the sun dares to peek from behind a cloud
and then proclaim to the world,
“Look! See the newly washed world,
with rested eyes and a cleansed mind.”
9/23
Song of Gratitude
Thank You, God for:
Wind moving saffron-colored leaves
across the street
like so many earth-bound butterflies.
Amethysts, rubies, emeralds—nature’s jewels
that sparkle in the early autumn sun
and hint of regal glory in the gloaming.
The snap in the air
and the crunch of leaves underfoot;
the smell of wood smoke as someone
lights the fireplace to take off the chill of the evening.
Making my Dad’s transition quick and painless
—or less painful—
in this most beautiful of seasons.
Pulling forth from my inner Core
the strength, the patience, the love, and the wisdom
to know and TO PRACTICE that
“Everyone does the best they can,
and know how to do,
where they are at this moment.”
Students who demand my time
and who strive for excellence,
even under the most stressful of conditions.
New challenges I can master and
grow stronger from as a person;
Contributions only I can make
and the confidence to take the steps
necessary to accomplish miracles of the soul.
Again, I thank You, God, the Good and Merciful,
Who dwells within the center of my soul.
Amen.
10-20-88
Observation on Sunday, October 20, 1991
The horizon is aflame,
not with fire,
but with the brightness
of the soon-to-be embers of leaves
that recycle in a blaze of light.
This time of year is a mellow time;
a winding down is at hand.
The honks of migrating geese signal
a resonant reminder to turn within.
Thoughts on October 22, 2004
The leaves are really beginning to fall faster—
now that the rain has slackened off.
Yellow bits of color waft past the window, bounce off the roof,
settle in the gutters, nestle along the edges of the driveway,
and stick like starry barnacles to the windows of the car.
There is just enough of a chill in the air
to let me know that cold weather is not far away.
There is so much to do between now and then.
Will the house be finished before snow?
Living with dust and clutter can be nerve-racking,
but I guess things have to get worse before they get better.
The kitchen is three quarters finished;
just the last little touches remain.
There are curtains to be purchased and hung,
the green rug to be found and washed,
the remaining kitchen items
from the living and dining rooms to be given new homes.
The basement should have been finished by now,
but Eric and his crew have not been keeping up
to their word about being here five days, eight hours each week.
They say they have underbid the job, but that is not my fault.
Frustration is not far off, but I’m trying to hold it
at bay long enough to get the house in good order.
Winter:
Cold, Bone-chilling, Branch-snapping Cold Beauty
Transitions
The warm caressing zephyrs
of a summer’s languid breeze,
Near nakedness,
clothes above the knees,
The biting cold, howling sting
of the harsh northwest wind,
Everything covered,
furs from toes to the chin.
Light-hearted puppy,
Arthritic old dog,
Fast-swimming tadpole,
Green croaking frog.
Saplings, just planted
in neat rows down the street,
Venerable wizened trees
whose boughs arch and meet.
Skipping, beribboned children
Running at play
Cane-wielding elders
thankful for yet another day.
1-12-97
Sharing in God’s Largess
Several of them fluttered,
wings outspread,
Secure in the knowledge that there
was enough,
that there would always be enough
for those with faith.
The big, the small,
the brightly colored, the dun—
all perched at the edge of the feeder,
taking turns with manners
that could teach human beings a thing—or two.
A cardinal red, juncos, titmice,
and starlings, too,
seemed to understand
that the bluejay would eat only
what he needed to survive—just as would they all.
The birds looked askance
as the shutter clicked,
louder than I had hoped it would,
flitted to nearby branches,
then returned to their rightful share.
No one bird was more special
than any other, no one’s need
greater than another’s.
Yet they kept their holding patterns
as they bade each other, “Eat.”
Humans might strengthen their faith,
as lessons from the birds,
shared with us as freely as the snow,
uphold the laws of God’s largess,
and provide for us all more than we know.
Watching birds seems oh,
so simple,
but what complex lessons they show.
No one on earth would need
to suffer,
if everyone learned to care.
Never would there be any doubt
that there are ample blessings here.
Winter Morning
Evergreen cedar fronds covered in liquid diamonds;
Tall blade of grass with glistening water beads;
Clear birdsong from a happy songbird;
Corpulent squirrels chasing each other
through holly trees laden with berries red;
A quiet, stained glass window
suddenly aflame with newly-arrived sun;
These, all these, and more electrify
the quiet beauty of this,
the last Sunday of the passing year.
12-29-91
After the Storm
Trees encrusted with shimmering liquid diamonds,
Leaves so clean that their new greenness sparkled,
Streets clear of dust, and
Birds with feathers sleek and colors bright sang anew.
All these—and more—bespoke
the joy that followed
the storm last night.
The lightning lit the blackened sky;
the wind howled hauntingly.
Hail beat its own melody
on the shed’s metal roof,
and the rain fell in torrents
that cleansed the evening’s air.
Felled trees blocked the highways.
Failed electric power
left us free to snuggle
in the darkness of a stormy night.
The peacefulness of the blackness
blended with the soft sounds of our breathing,
and we slept, secure in the knowledge
that all was right with the world.
Observation on a Warm December Afternoon
Boughs of evergreen,
forced to dance
by almost temperate December winds,
Looked longingly for snow,
fallen to provide a crystal lacy filigree
of ice, more appropriate for the season.
Russet leaves cling,
tenuously, turning first inside, then out,
waiting to join the recycling bin.
Torrential rain,
pushed by heavy wind,
sporadic sunlight filtering through the trees.
Clouds settling in,
harbingers of the winter on its way.
Snow Day
Cold, bone-chilling, branch-snapping cold!
Holly tree dressed in icy crystal ornaments;
Oak trees glazed over in shiny, glistening mirrors of water;
Streets, too slick to walk on;
Streets, hidden under ice covers that show no sign of leaving.
City closed down. Snow day.
Sun so bright it hurts your eyes;
Maples covered in black ice;
Walks, lawns, and driveways covered, all made the same in texture;
Filigrees and curlicues come together in weeds and brush and trees
that are now art works encased in ice,
Things that before had only been unnoticed weeds and brush and trees.
City closed down. Snow day.
1-18-94
Snowy Meditation
Trees, covered in a soft confectioners’ sugar dusting of snow,
stand mute beside the highway
and deeper into the park.
Only a flit of red—a cardinal—
brings movement to the background
of evergreens standing against the horizon.
It is a soft time of morning.
Snow, in ever-increasing
soft dollops of whiteness,
clings to branches no longer naked,
but covered in a yellowish pinkish
tuft of new, budding, but yet unborn , leaves.
3-18-94
Pregnant Silhouettes
Silhouettes in black etch themselves
onto a rain-gray sky;
Hairy black fingers and larger ebon arms
reach heavenward.
A soft rain quietens the morning’s sounds,
and trees, now naked, but pregnant with buds,
soak in the nourishment
and wait for the soon-to-come spring.
On the hill outside my window
a fallen tree trunk rests on its side;
raindrops glisten on a sapling sprout.
The house on the hill stands
forlorn and bereft of its owners—
one now ill and the other dead.
A blackened chimney from last week’s fire
stands sentinel over the deserted grounds.
Soon fingers and arms of yellow and hot pink
and white and red will brighten the sky
as forsythia, jonquils, daffodils, azaleas, snowdrops, and redbud
paint the barrenness of the hillside
and the brownness of winter.
Silhouettes now in black will don new-leaf green,
and a rain-gray sky will become the sunny blue
of a mesmerizing spring morning.
3-3-90
Spring:
“The Time for the Singing of Birds Is at Hand.” Song of Solomon
…For Early Morning Gifts…
What a beautiful morning!
Sing, birds, sing!
Inspire me to write my thanks
for things taken for granted.
My soul is renewed and refreshed
after a good night’s perfect rest.
My body is healed and whole,
and my dull edges sharpened.
Skies of early-morning blue
highlight the intensity of the coming day.
Squirrels thump, horse-like, across the roof
to their above-ground highways..
Sing, birds, sing!
Motivate me as you have motivated
others before me.
Soothe my soul with trills
and arpeggios too perfect to replicate.
5-8-90
What a Morning!
Black dots with miniature wings flew high
above my head that was beginning to appreciate
the coolness of the breeze against the hot sweat
that trickled freely through my hair and down my back.
Toward a round gray twig set to snap under my shoe, toward the velvet soften of the newly mown grass as it covered the dun-colored patches of hard, bumpy soil that kept peeking through the beggars, seeking the verdant covering of the rest of the lawn.
Speed Limit
20 mph the signs say.
Fast, much too fast
to appreciate the fuchsia,
magenta, and pinkish whites
of azaleas, magnolias,
and ground covers too plentiful,
too beautiful to glimpse at 20 mph.
4/18/99
The Azaleas
My favorite place in the city,
the azalea hill in the heart of the city,
unbeknownst to many who live here,
popular with those from far away…
Blooms hot pink, with pregnant buds,
waiting to spring forth
into awe-inspiring splendor.
4/18/99
The Arboretum
Koi as long as my forearm
loll beneath the surface,
shaded by magnificent water lilies,
fed by those wanting a closer look
at their golden and alabaster beauty.
4/18/99
Thoughts Stirred by Soft 4 a.m. Rain
Birds that sing in the shower
are as happy as I.
I once thought that a bird
would drown if it
opened its mouth to sing in the rain,
But now I know that that is not true.
4-29-89
Spring Rain
A spring rain that starts in sprinkles
then grows into torrents,
provides the perfect backdrop to a cozy snuggle
with a patient, gentle man
whose measured breathing
provides a calming music
to the symphony of my soul.
A hard spring rain, on the other hand,
gives a time to think as the elements
beat a measured tattoo
against the walls and the windows
inside and outside my mind,
while the rain rinses the cobwebs
from my mind, the tension from my body.
All spring rains, whether slow or torrential,
signal the time for quietude,
a time to go within the fibers
of my connectedness with the Universal Power
that provides sustenance for every living thing.
Once inside, I am safe and secure and calm;
I feel at one with all living things,
a part of the ultimate orderly scheme of things.
7-3-91
Ode to an Early Spring’s Morn
Clothed in new-leaf greens and beiges,
trees stand guard duty
around the school’s perimeter.
A rectangular patch of dandelion-embossed grass
hides from the sun in the shade
of the cold white concrete that forms the walls
of the building known as the Tower of Power.
II
The eternally blue sky
shelters black bits of airborne life
too small to cast a shadow on us here below
but as significant to their loved ones as we to ours.
The chirping of birds,
the cawing of a far-away crow,
and the barking of an even farther away dog
punctuate the stillness of the morning and
disturb my musings about why I’m here.
III
The nippiness of the wind in my hair,
only slightly alleviated by
the sun’s warmth on my face
let me know that in the autumn of my life,
spring is as predictable as breathing,
so predictable, in fact, that long
after only my essence remains,
an early spring morning will
still stir the pollen and
swell the senses of others yet unborn.
Observation
A field of yellow buttercups,
looking like splashes of gold
thrown freely about the ground—
The trilling of a songbird
high in the tree
covered with new-leaf green—
Call forth memories of childhood
when I picked a bouquet
of buttercups
And marveled
at the dropped feather
that floated from a robin’s nest.
Ode to…
The sight of white things hung
carefully on the line
brings back the childhood memory
of the clean small of sun-dried linen.
Puddles of mirrors reflect
a blue sky dotted with cotton balls
and a lone pigeon that seemed
to enjoy soaring on the updraft.
Hoary-headed dandelions stand sentinel
in a field of yellow buttercups
while persistent golden dandelions
force their way between the cracks
in the plaza’s concrete.
The hardness of the concrete
on my behind
is no where near as hard as the cracks
through which these pesky flower weeds
must press their way to salute the day.
Not yet hoary-headed but too old
to be considered youthful any more,
I bless the softness of the wind against my skin
and revel in the warmth of the spring sun
against my back and neck.
Yet can I feel, yet do I marvel
at pinwheels gently floating toward earth,
Waiting again to complete the cycle of life.
4-21-98
Shower
The luminescent sparkle
of blades of grass,
made jewel-like by the shower’s aftermath,
insisted they be pressed
into my permanent memory of treasures.
They, stately and solid as a rock
jutting from a field of flowers,
began to dredge a furrow in my mind—
replacing the sullenness
of a moody, cloudy day.
Noting that natural riches
were mine for the taking,
I marveled at how the wind
caressed these most fragile
of transient, tidy diamonds,
freely strewn by the side of the road.
Rainy Afternoon
I contemplate a rainy afternoon
with overcast clouds
and baby raindrops
that spatter against a mirrored pond
whereon geese glide
and ducks drowsily paddle
their way toward
the quiet stillness of the center.
4/18/99
“Beauty is the Splendor of Truth.” Plato
Birds, soaring freely against the rising sun
Bees, enraptured by a lily’s pollen
A spidery web, festooned with dew—
Nothing can I explain;
Everything I can appreciate.
A starburst inside a flower,
Wonders too great for us to duplicate,
A catkin grasping precious droplets—
We’re all unique, yet one,
In the Grand Design of Nature’s mystique.
The wrinkled face of one not as old as the planet,
smiles a smile
as the planet spins,
like a striated beach ball,
in the vast blackness of space.
4-30-98
Summer: “There’s a Time and a Place for Everything under the Heavens.” Ecclesiastes 3:1
Moonlight Sonata
There’s a French vanilla
moon out tonight.
Its halo brightens
the darkness of a flat navy sky.
Soft vapors from the humidity
of the day caress my skin,
and I am calm.
To sing sweet music
and then to behold the light of the moon
is a glorious feeling
and a gift from God,
a joy that ends too soon.
Yet, and still, I am calm.
6-7-90
Night Blooming Cereus
Fragrance as sweet and light
as a baby’s whisper
Buds that bloom slowly,
imperceptibly, into blossoms
spectacular, yet fragile
Petals that open into layers
tight and not so tight
sharing their ethereal splendor
only when the night is fully awake.
7-4-91
“Peace, Be Still”
Dew, like liquid spider webs,
sparkles in the early morning grass.
It hangs, suspended, from the fronds
of the Boston fern waving gently in the breeze.
Its wetness, a breakfast libation,
sustains birds and other creatures small.
Dew, cool like the crystal glass in your hand,
dampens and stills the dry dust of the previous day.
A perfect spider’s web reaches
from a lower branch of the climbing rose bush
to the edge of the porch,
where dew makes it shimmer
like a bejeweled gossamer trinket
enhanced by an onyx, off-center, very still spider.
8-13-94
Pinecones and Rose Petals
The needles of a pine tree
bespeak the prickly points of its fruit,
the pinecone.
The velvety sensuousness of a rose petal
is even more enjoyable
once the rose’s thorns have been avoided.
Life goes on from pinecones
stuck deep and painfully within the soul
to rose petals
wedged comfortably within the recesses of the mind.
The continuum
includes not only pain but also pleasure…
Monday, January 16, 2012
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Sunday, February 7, 2010
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.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
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.
hang from
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.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Thanksgiving, 2009
Happy Thanksgiving. I would like to share some thoughts on this Thanksgiving eve.
When God sent you into my life,
He was thinking like a Hallmark card.
He cared enough to send only the best.
As the leaves chase each other to the ground
to start fertilizing the new leaves yet unborn,
and the earth receives her autumnal facials,
I think with gratitude for all of you
whose presence has enriched my life.
Some people are like the saffron and red leaves
which have mostly transitioned into retired positions of love,
and others of us hold on
like the russet and bronze oak leaves
whose tenacity and dedication will allow them
to leave only after all others have fallen.
You are like the oak leaves;
you hold on and keep on keeping on
as you fertilize dreams not yet realized,
and hold out the gifts of your presence
in my life and affairs.
Thank you for being my Hallmark cards.
I cherish you in the scrapbook of my mind.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Paper Prayers: A Microcosm of Views of
January, 2008
Today, Arctic winds
howl outside the house,
but I am safe and warm.
What a wonderment is heat;
what a blessing not having
to go out into the frigid air!
O Lord, thank You
for allowing me the opportunity
to be retired and able
to do—or not to do—
as I please.
I shall take down
the decorations of
the season of light,
but I am grateful
to have seen them
for yet another year.
Cold!
Bone-snapping
body-numbing cold—
As I left the house, I could not
but give thanks for
the warmth and hood of
my new “fur” coat.
“Break forth, O beauteous, heavenly light,
and usher in the morning”
has been running through my head these last few days,
and today the morning is beautiful.
It’s supposed to be 60 degrees today;
I cannot imagine how wondrous it must be
to control the wind, the waves, the sun, the moon,
and all creatures gigantic and miniscule
here on Earth and beyond.
The weather is more spring-like than winter!
The squirrel that watches me
evidently times my movements
in order to feast on the bed of tulip bulbs
I so laboriously planted.
There are holes everywhere there was a bulb.
Oh, well,
at least a squirrel family won’t starve.
What a wonderment is snow
as it falls in big, soft flakes.
Even garbage looks beautiful temporarily,
but I am particularly fascinated
by trees and snow studies in black and white.
One source of beauty—
the red of the amaryllis is teasing my eyes.
The amaryllis seems to be opening
in time lapse as I watch
and photograph it each day.
Two blooms should be open by tomorrow.
Beauty is, indeed, its own excuse for being.
Thanks, God!
Thank You, God, for allowing me
the luxury of having my hair done every week.
Being shampooed is as pleasant as
taking off my 18-hour bra
when it has been on overtime!
The streets are clear,
but there is still snow on the grass.
It must be waiting for more to lay atop it.
Cold! The kind that makes
people and animals hunker down
in something warm.
There’s snow forecast
for Tuesday and Thursday,
and last week’s remnants lay in wait
for that which is promised.
Thanks for the 6 blossom amaryllis.
It grows more gorgeous almost every hour.
So far, no snow…
Flo’s amaryllis has buds but no blooms;
Jewell’s and Evelyn’s are competing
to see which one is more beautiful.
Being alive is a wondrous blessing;
just knowing what challenges I have survived
over the years of my life
makes me both thankful and awe-struck.
I sit, listening to the sounds
that soothe and nourish.
The wind moves the branches outside the shutters,
and I am thankful I can sit and watch them
without having to go out
into the rush-hour hustle and bustle.
Thanks, God, for the last day
of my 65th year; tomorrow is
the beginning of year 66!
Years fall away faster and faster now.
I’m so grateful I took
sequential pictures of the amaryllis.
Yesterday afternoon, it, too, fell away
from its perch on the windowsill.
Alas, four beautiful blooms
did not survive the plunge.
Today, it rains;
tomorrow crocuses will sprout.
I am again thankful
that I do not have to go out.
Thanks for the beauty all around me.
I remain in constant awe at
the complexity and beauty of “simple” things.
February
It was cold and rainy as I left
for Deitra to do my hair,
but it was beautiful seeing the contrast
between the wet tops and dry bottoms
of the trees along the way.
Sometimes it is hard for those around me
to acknowledge or accept
that I am not only physically tired
but also emotionally exhausted.
I do thank You for allowing me
the luxury of some “me” time
to do some of the things I enjoy doing
without being everything to everybody
and nothing to myself.
Today was a quiet day.
I read the papers between naps.
It is unseasonably warm today,
and I have some energy.
After coming back in,
I realized how good it was
getting out for a little while
and then coming back in.
There is a strong wind
and a spring-like 66 degree
temperature early this morning.
A storm is predicted for the evening.
Today has been a fallow one—
one where I’ve thought and slept.
After last night’s storm,
the sun brightly shines.
After acknowledging the dark nights
I’ve allowed in my soul,
the light of positive change just approaches,
and I am thankful.
Let me be ever mindful of what I allow
to color my emotionally has strong influences
on my physical and spiritual selves.
A cold rain replaces
the icy storm from yesterday,
and I awake at 4 a.m.
with a story for children
playing around in my head:
The ornamental grass wants to know,
“Who took away my leaves?
Where did they go?
They were so pretty in my hair.
They were my ribbons and bows—
placed carefully by the blowing air.
What was the human doing with his rake?
He worked and worked,
but I still want to know
What gave him the right
my ribbons and bows to take?”
Today dawns cloudy and quiet,
a good time for contemplation and thanks.
In the distance,
I hear a plane and wish all aboard
a safe and uneventful trip.
Though I slept well after watching South Pacific last night,
I feel I could sleep a little longer
to help this winter’s bad cold
to leave sooner than later.
Thanks for the chance to rest.
The guest on Hour of Power was Wintley Phipps,
whose magnificent baritone voice explained
the slave (pentatonic, black keys only) scale
as the basis for every Negro Spiritual
and one well-known White Spiritual, “Amazing Grace.”
His singing was so moving,
it brought word pictures to my brain.
I want to visit YOU Tube.com
to see his full lesson
on the history of Negro Spirituals.
The squirrels use my roof
as one part of their aerial highway,
and the thumping of their heavy little feet
wakened me to this cloudy and windy morn.
I read the article and felt the pain
of the teacher who missed National Board Certification
by ten points.
I am thankful You allowed me to experience
the process, the pain, and the success.
It truly changed my life—
“Out of adversity, goodness comes.”
Today was an absolutely quiet one.
I spoke with Sistah Friends
and played Bookworm
on Claire’s computer all day.
After 74 degrees on Monday,
today dawns a true winter’s February cold.
I do know there’s a bug going around,
and I wish it Godspeed away.
Thanks, God, for the luxury of the Jacuzzi tub;
it is one of the most relaxing feelings
to soak away discomfort
before going to bed.
This morning has dawned icy,
with promises of additional inclement weather
all day today.
For the first time in a long time,
I cancelled my hairdresser appointment.
I just want to be respectful of ice;
I still remember the feelings
of utter helplessness and the exquisite pain
as my body met the unyielding, hard, slippery tarmac
when I got out of the car once onto a sheet of ice.
Thank You for giving me common sense
enough to stay indoors today.
I am so tired and achy that I want nothing more
than to curl up under my fuzzy green blankie and sleep.
Thanks for that option.
It is raining as I awake
and make my way down to the bathroom.
How wonderfully quiet is the early morning!
I’m up earlier than usual,
and I am not really hungry yet.
I guess I’ll eat around nine.
Without an alarm clock,
my body knows when to get up,
and for that, I am thankful.
The article in The City Paper
about my beloved
made me want to weep.
It was so negative, so very negative—
but sadly, so true.
To know that both it and
will be torn down and rebuilt soon
emphasizes the temporariness of all things—
even bricks and concrete.
All of the schools I’ve attended or worked at
will soon be no more.
Only once every four years does Leap Day come;
otherwise, February would seem
to have flown by even faster than January.
The warmth of the sun
offsets the chill of the searching wind.
March
Today is a preview of the spring yet to come,
and I am so grateful to see
the prospect of another season—
even in the middle of winter.
Severe weather is called for tonight,
but so far, our area has gotten only rain.
Bless those who may have been
or will be adversely affected by weather.
Thank You for trash bags, the shredder,
and the energy to sort through and to discard
six or eight bags of things and stuff
that needed to be discarded long ago this past Monday.
At the rate I’m making order in my life and affairs,
the trash men can be assured of continual employment.
Thank You for a clutter-freeness
and for the men who haul away that
which is no longer holding my house
in a tight band of clutter
so strong it feels like a metal corset.
Soft sounds of a steady, soaking rain
awaken me as they plop
against the windows
and massage the roof.
Tonight the time changes,
but today, March lets everyone
know it is still winter with
howling 60 m.p.h. winds,
torrents of rain,
and breathtakingly beautiful sun.
The time has changed,
but my body awakens me on its own time.
I am so grateful to have slept
in a room in the process of becoming beautiful.
The March winds continue
to fell trees as they make way for new growth.
I guess we are getting in tune
with the natural need to purge
and to share what we no longer need or use
in order to make room for that
which is conducive to good health
and perfect peace.
Though the process of purging is difficult,
getting it done is truly a coveted blessing.
Thank You for showing us the way
to spring forth into all we need to do
for health, peace, and beauty.
What a beautiful morning!
I heard the owl this morning
for the first time in a while.
The rain or snow forecast for last night
fell not on our neck of the woods,
but the cold makes me keenly understand
what a necessity is heat.
Thank You for showing us all
how less is, indeed, more.
At times, I feel overwhelmed
as I try to get to less,
but I know I did (no, we did) not get
to more in a day, a week, or even a year.
Thank You for the energy to press on.
The hot shower felt so good this morning.
I have boundless thanks for so many things,
particularly hot water.
The beauty of the early crocuses and budding trees
along the street and in
leaves me in amazement and awe
at Your handiwork in the midst of the fallow time.
“The ides of March…”
Thank You for the memories
I found or revisited
as I sifted through books and papers yesterday.
May I give advance thanks
for the stamina to continue
until our house is clean, neat, and beautiful?
Lord, I am so very thankful to be eliminating
several sources of stress
with the winnowing out process
of things once loved
but no longer needed,
things like sets of grammar and literature books,
for instance.
Thank You, thank You for all the many favors
You have and will bestow on us.
Yesterday was Christmas;
tomorrow is Easter.
Where does the time fly so fast?
It is as though the Earth
is spinning faster and faster
as we get older and older.
Thank You for a new home
for the grammar books with my niece, Malika,
an instructor at the
I’m so happy when the books can be put to good use.
Lord, Your trees and bulbs and crocuses and jonquils
know just when to reappear to preview
the end of the fallow time
and the beginning of spring.
Thank You for allowing me to revel
in each season’s specialness!
The high gas prices
are having a ripple effect
on everything and everyone.
Thank You for allowing
the peoples of the world
to experience peace
and the means to survive.
“Trouble don’t last always…”
and only You know
when it will be all right.
Spring is only days away,
and today was beautiful.
Good morning, God, and thank You
for the quiet time
when I can sit and think and write.
This time alone is good for me,
for it allows my day
to start off on a calm, meditative note.
There is nothing to disturb
my need for silence.
I think Willie may need some time
to grow into the day also,
for he gets up and goes downstairs
usually before I turn over.
He likes to watch the news
and the History channels;
the sounds I love in the morning
are those made
by the birds, the wind, the rain,
and the snow’s utter silence.
The fallow time is, indeed, valuable.
Thank You for helping me to realize
that if I continue to allow myself
to run on empty that I will have
nothing to offer anyone else.
It has taken some hard lessons
and enforced fallow time
for me to realize that I must
take care of myself first,
to love my neighbor and family as,
not in place of, before, or better than myself.
Thank You for my ever-increasing ability
to continue on the right path.
Today is the day for going to
and tonight Evelyn performs as Lucy Craft Laney
at Stillman’s celebration of National Women’s History Month.
Being able to go is such a wonderful feeling.
The weather is iffy,
but You hold me and others in Your hand,
and I’m not afraid to fly.
The flight was not bumpy except for a few minutes.
Once on the ground,
the dark clouds were fierce looking,
the trees and grasses were magnificent,
and then,
the sun came out.
I knew that Divine Order
was at work in my life and affairs.
The blooming fruit trees at the entrance
to her gated community certainly give
a “Wow, God, how wonderful!” exclamation
as we drive through the gate.
Evelyn’s home is magnificent;
it is truly an expression of who she is.
The painting is colorfully extraordinary
and the feeling in this house
is both warm and comfortable.
The sun room dubbed
“the rejuvenation room” is BEAUTIFUL!
She has joy,
not necessarily happiness,
but inner joy.
The program was
a masterfully creative example of teaching
and learning as performance art.
Constructivist teaching has an appeal
in that it is a cooperative and collaborative effort
between students and their teachers.
The performance reminded me
of the student performances at Woodson
as we Celebrated the Spoken and the Written Word.
is beautiful and old and replete
with a sense of history and hard work.
I am grateful for the sacrifices of those
who have gone before and laid paths
for others to follow toward better lives,
and I hope I may be a part
of that continuing chain of educators
who believe in the goodness of students
and transformative possibilities of education.
I started reading A New Earth yesterday at the airport
and finished about half of it on the plane.
It makes so much sense, so much sense.
Today is a quiet one for me;
I have sat and read and snoozed.
My body is at rest
and I give thanks for each day.
It feels good and I am grateful to be able
to replenish my energy
after a momentous two days of fun and travel.
Thank You for a painter
who could have charged $1000
to paint the bedroom but did not,
even though he gave us a thousand dollar work effort.
The lemon meringue color is soothing.
Today is sunny and filled with a sense of peace,
and I am so grateful.
Getting all of the books out of the office
is taking longer than I thought it would,
but getting the house in order
is such a joyful feeling.
My gratitude is boundless.
A Season of Miracles
(The Day Before Easter)
We are all one kind of miracle.
The rock has a heart.
Trees are super smart;
they know when to bloom
just as the season of miracles
is about to start.
Another miracle: fish and salt,
two unlikely things, co-exist
and survive in the waters of the sea,
while miracle mortals need
saltless water to survive, just to be.
The sun, the moon, the stars—
Once I thought these things
shone just for me,
but now, I know they shine equally
for all, for us all to see.
It is, indeed, a season of miracles,
and I am happy and thankful
just to be here to see
redbuds and fruit trees bloom,
to plant pansies that smile up at the sun,
to hear birds as they tune up
and sing their symphonies outside my window,
and to watch the sky stay lighter
for longer and longer periods
until another miracle, another season has begun.
The ebb and flow touches us all—
rock and tree, flowers and birds,
and ordinary miracles like you and me.
I stand in thankful awe at the everyday
miracles strewn freely about me everywhere.
Easter Sunday
Today is Easter, and Lord,
I give thanks for all who sacrificed
and still believed in what Your Son meant
when He directed us to love one another.
Thank You for peace and a sense of oneness
for all peoples of planet Earth.
Show us how and what we need to do
as both individuals and as groups
to express our love for all things,
animate and inanimate.
On this Easter morning, may we resurrect
ourselves and move toward total
and honest communication that leads
to understanding, health, and perfect peace.
As today is one of the holiest of holies,
thank You for Your grace and way-showing
toward a better life for us all.
Thank You for Your blessings of health,
honest communication, love, and perfect peace.
As Evelyn said so eloquently,
“I may not have happiness, but I have JOY.”
Help me to have clean thoughts,
unshakable belief, and words that uplift and harm not.
I feel such joy, such hope at perfect health
and abounding peace not only for me
but also for everyone on planet Earth.
Thank You does not seem adequate
for all You do, but I am filled with gratitude.
Three more days and this month
will have joined the other months in flight.
Tomorrow, I’ll continue working upstairs.
The positive changes are obvious
and so pleasing to behold.
Thank You for order, beauty, and peace.
Today, I began to plant the pansies
in the window box,
but the wind’s coldness persuaded me
to enjoy the blessings of indoor heat.
If it is not raining all day tomorrow
and if it is not as chilly,
I shall finish planting the white and multi-colored pansies
in the porch’s flower box.
Today the remnant of winter
makes me appreciate the clearing
of the air by the cold winter-like wind
that persuades me to work inside rather than out.
I think we are all beginning to see
the positive energy that comes
from making space by blessing and releasing
that which we no longer need.
On the way home from dropping off the tax papers,
we indulged ourselves
with scoops of vanilla and peach ice cream.
What a treat! Thank You for another month.
April
Today is forecast to be warmer but still rainy.
The flowers certainly will look more nourished.
The winds let the dead leaves know
it’s time to fall to earth.
The morn is gray and wet.
Graytail, my squirrel observer,
must be some place dry and warm,
for he is not intently studying me
as I study him.
The tops of branches
are black with the rain.
The only sounds are those
of people rushing off to work in their cars.
Thank You that I do not have to do
that morning and afternoon rush any more;
it was only with Your help
that I (and so many others) did
what I did for years and years.
I am thankful for the time
of rest, de-cluttering, and perfect health and peace.
I’m monitoring my prayer thoughts more closely
and trying to correct to the positive
when I stray off course.
Paper prayers may not be everyone’s way
of saying how thankful they are,
but this is one of my most valued
and peaceful times of the day.
The feel of the pen on paper can in no way
be surpassed by the tap of my fingers
on the computer keys.
The raindrops looked like
liquid diamonds on glass
lit behind street lights.
The hard rains of last night
and early this morning washed away
pollen and dirt and nourished
all things living on and beneath the earth.
2nd try at haiku:
The blowing rain stuck
Like liquid diamonds to glass
backlit by street lights.
There’s a chartreuse dappling
the tallest tree in the backyard.
Tulips open tentatively to peek
at the grape hyacinths, crocuses,
pansies, blooming fruit trees,
and then wait their turn to form
a floral corps du ballet.
Today is windy and chilly,
while yesterday was windy, warm, and wet.
You, Who control everything,
are not only busy but also creative, artistic,
and a Nurturer of all who notice changes in the seasons.
I thank You for beauty that surrounds and sustains me.
Wind blows the dead leaves,
the ones clinging to the trees
swaying on the hill.
Good morning, God, and thank You
for a restful sleep after an enjoyable bath.
Thank You in advance for a day
of peace, painlessness, and gratitude.
I give thanks for yesterday’s fallow time
away from the computer;
it allowed me time
to think and just TO BE.
What wonderment…
Tolle’s book reinforces a lot of the lessons of Unity,
and I feel the strong need
to go back to church,
something I’ve missed doing
for a few years.
Even though I have not been
in a church building on a regular basis,
I have never stopped believing
that I am Your child.
Graytail once more traveled and paused
outside my window yesterday.
Surprising how I missed seeing him/her…
Today is anniversary 40 of the assassination
of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in
one day after walking
in support of the garbage men.
So many will speak of him today
and so many will forget
his message of peace and love—even now.
The soft rains from You seem
to be silent weeping for all who are in pain,
all who are not at peace.
Thank You for perfect health, order, beauty, and peace.
Thank You for “me” time in the mornings
and for the additional joy of pampering at the beauty shop.
Tornadoes devastated parts of the South last night;
hail also fell on this, the 573rd tornado of the year.
The sun is out and
the wind seems less forceful.
Thanks for the tulips, grape hyacinths,
forsythia, pansies, jonquils, and daffodils.
The fruit trees blooming everywhere
take my breath away with their beauty.
The photographs I took of the flowers
may bring joy to others
once I get them in a sharing place.
Two gunshots,
quick BLAM! BLAM! rang out
between 9:30-10:00 p.m. last night.
They were much too close for comfort,
and we did not dare go
to the window to investigate.
We continued moving books from the office.
I even offered the hope that
what we heard may have come from remnants
of the Cherry Blossom fireworks.
Between 11:30 and midnight,
I went downstairs to answer
the call of the bladder
and was startled by two squad cars
shining a light up our driveway,
then moving on up the street,
only suddenly to back up and park
on either side of the street.
Two officers then knocked on our neighbor’s door,
peeked in the front windows,
and finally left when no one answered the door.
Almost two hours between…
Two shots shattering the night
Two squad cars blocking the street
Two officers out on the street,
Cautiously checking, unsuccessfully,
The source of 2 shots too close.
This morning is cloudy
and raindrops softly plop
on the shingles of the roof.
The little kid in me still wonders
where the birds and other animals
go to stay dry,
but You have always worked things out for us all.
Thank You for allowing me still
to have a sense of wonderment
and a sense of awe and gratitude.
Thank You for Divine Order,
peace for all here on earth,
and perfect health.
I’m excited about sharing Poetry Day
with the fifth graders
at
on the twentieth.
I do miss the interaction with students,
but I am thankful to be able now
not to have to go out daily.
Little or no wind stirs the trees outside my window,
and the sun rests behind or above the clouds.
The stillness of the morning
gentles me into the day,
and I am at peace.
I finished Tolle’s book last night;
its message of positivity and hope
was just what I needed to encourage me
to make the most of the end
of the fallow time and increased creativity.
It seems that I bloom like the tulips
as the daylight lengthens.
Fog is giving the earth a facial.
Today dawns a lighter gray than yesterday—
just as the office is lighter today than yesterday.
Only You can control the weather,
and I am at peace to see its daily variety.
For so many years,
I have journaled only sporadically,
and I am filled with gratitude
at having the time and the energy
to follow through daily.
I feel so good about the house
becoming less and less cluttered
and more attractive,
and I give thanks in advance
for good homes for the books I no longer need.
Getting rid of books is hard for me,
but I know I must make way
for this next phase of my life.
Knowing that someone else can get good use
from them is a saving grace.
Yesterday was a beautiful “soft” day;
though cloudy, it was warm—
almost like the afterglow
of the earth’s facial from previous rains.
It is not yet dawn,
but the lapis sky silhouettes
branches black outside my window.
The tulips that have come up
delight my eyes and amaze me
with their crimson beauty.
Thank You for Your infinite artistry
that so freely shares perfection
in the most simple things.
As I write, I sit,
snuggled under my soft green blankie.
Its warmth is both tactile, pleasant, and bodily soothing.
I feel a deep abiding joy
whenever it touches my body,
and I give thanks.
Tonight’s rain looked like back-lit diamonds on the window panes.
Divine Order is at work in my life and affairs,
and my gratitude is unending.
What a pleasure it was last night
to snuggle up and go to sleep listening to the rain.
Though I am working slowly,
I realize that everything did not accumulate at once.
As the clutter decreases,
my joy increases,
and I am ever thankful.
Today feels like
it is going to be another perfect day.
I’m going to buy four more boxes
and try to get everything ready for the painter.
Thank You for a pain-free energy filled day.
Yesterday, I walked
a King Charles Springer Spaniel named Allie.
What a delightful, energetic little dog!
The sun illumines
just one way to elicit a “WOW!”
from any who will look.
How beautiful!
Willie and the guys have gone
to Charlotte Hall for a car show,
one of the first of the season.
Our usual Sunday morning bagel breakfast will not be today.
The sun favors the car show participants.
Yesterday was quiet, a very quiet one.
Trees and flowers make me awe-struck.
Something in every season brings about
this feeling of gratefulness and awe.
The dogwood has begun to bloom,
and now, afternoon clouds
obscure the morning’s sun.
If it threatens rain,
the car show will surely end,
and things of beauty
will once again retire to garages.
I am moving slower today
than I thought I would be,
but I am thankful
for movement and another day.
The sun shines brightly
on what appears to be a chilly morning.
The rest of the day is forecast to be sunny,
but whatever the weather,
there will be something of beauty to appreciate.
I found more poetry and musings
as I sorted through stuff yesterday.
Once everything is organized,
these writings will need putting in the computer.
Many creative ideas and projects
are presenting themselves for consideration
now that the creative season is here.
The telephone aroused me
from a sound slumber,
and I am thankful for
the beauty of this sunny morning.
Today the city awaits the arrival of the Pope,
and the air is filled
with excitement of old and young alike.
Yesterday’s trip to the dentist
found us both with a cavity and need for further work.
I’m not worried,
for I know there are a way and a solution
to all challenges.
Thank You for the boxes and the stamina
to fill them with the rest of the books and artifacts.
There is less clutter now
than when we started,
but there is much still to do.
“Inch by inch, anything’s a cinch.”
I notice the wind as it encourages
the few remaining leaves of the winter
to make way for the new ones poised to come,
and I am reminded that even as nature purges and purifies,
so must we humans do likewise.
Today, I shall rejoice at being o.k.,
at peace, and in perfect health.
Emancipation Day—
I have found so much additional poetry and short stories,
and I give advance thanks
to get them all typed and organized into the computer.
What a beautiful day was yesterday,
and this morning it seems today
is going to be equally wonderful.
The purple of the redbud,
the azaleas’ hot pink
now are punctuated
by the dogwood’s white blooms.
My amazement never ceases
as I behold the wonders
all around me,
wonders free for the looking
for all who will but see.
I want to sit and revel in the silence of the morning,
maybe even to snooze a little while longer
before I go to meet the rest of the day.
Maybe today,
I’ll get the pansies planted.
For whatever comes,
I am thankful.
Two police cars responded
to our neighbor finding a bullet
embedded in his deck
and another in his front yard.
Perhaps these are the remnants
of the close-by gunshots
we heard a few days ago.
Whoever shot must have been moving
fast and from very close by.
I’m glad no one was hurt.
The blooms on the dogwood
are so strikingly beautiful,
especially as they offset the redbud
and the new-leaf greens all around it.
I awake to the soft sounds of rain
cleansing the pollen and
nourishing the growing things.
The rain is now harder
as it plops against the windows and the roof.
Such a soothing sound—
Now cometh the thunderstorm…
A lone mockingbird
sits on the highest part of the fence
as it surveys the new-leaf green
that now covers the near and far horizon.
Yesterday’s storms have cleansed the air
and washed away the pollen,
and all of a sudden,
the leaves have popped out.
This morning’s rain is soft,
the sky overcast but not threatening.
Last night’s thunder rumbled in the distance
as the few lightning flashes
turned the night into day.
High winds were destructive tornadoes
in parts of
I pray that all who were damaged
will soon be made whole again.
Spectacular photos of lightning
striking two planes leaving Dulles
flashed across the news,
but both planes landed,
safely guided by Your hands.
The water blackened branches
silhouette themselves against
the creamy whiteness of the dogwood’s blooms.
I’ve watched the old leaves
clinging throughout the winter
being forced, one by one, to surrender
from the new growth pushing from within.
Now, only memories of them remain…
The wind rustles through leaves new
and scatters blossoms old
as planet Earth works in tandem
with You and Mother Nature
to make all things beautiful.
My head and eyes give thanks
for the rain-cleansed air
and the lessening of pollen.
Yesterday’s sun illumined ordinary things
into extraordinary ones cleansed by rains
and free of pollen.
What beauty we passed as tree boxes
and planters full of blooming annuals
saluted in silent formation.
Such beautiful pinks, yellows, purples, and whites
—freely waiting for all to see.
How many others love them as I?
How many ever saw them on Earth Day?
Graytail is back outside my window.
His perfect balance amazes me
as he hangs upside down by his tail
to munch a tasty morsel.
We watch and silently greet each other
as we contemplate the wonderment of our existence.
Upon further observation,
maybe Graytail is testing building materials
and choosing just the right ones for a nest…
Crows caw outside my window,
and it is the first time I have heard them this year.
Now leaves on the mulberry tree are nearly two inches long,
their serrated edges becoming more noticeable
against the brightness of the morning sky.
I am at peace.
Today is sunny, bright, and beautiful,
and maybe I’ll be able to plant
the flower box on the porch
and lay out some of last year’s seeds.
I am sore but a good sore from work.
Thank You for last night’s storm.
The rain washed off the pollen
that looked like yellow-green paintballs
spattered across the car.
The new-leaf green leaves outside my window sway,
but gently, in this morning’s breezes.
It is cloudy and wet,
a typical April morning,
and I am so grateful to be alive
and privy to the wonderment
that nature brings every single day.
There is a lushness to the greenery outside the house,
and the showers encourage growth
while washing away the pollen.
It’s colder and wetter today than yesterday,
but I am excited about working with students
at
The rain increases,
and I hear it as it hits the roof.
Oddly enough, this is a comforting sound,
one that earlier gave me the urge
to cocoon and sleep until after 9—a good feeling.
Working with students yesterday was so much fun!
Thank You for young poets and writers
who have so much talent and so much to share.
I was pleasantly surprised yesterday
to find that three of the MLK teachers and I
had been at DC Teachers’ College together.
That was a time so far away
but so lovingly remembered.
Today is bright, calm, and chilly,
but we were blessed during yesterday’s torrential rains.
No tornadoes ravaged this area
like what happened in
Bless all who have been hurt,
and help us to remember how truly blessed we are.
As I write, I notice the busyness
of the leaves as the wind picks up.
Oh, God, two shafts of sunlight
are now highlighting six leaves
outside my window!
In the time it takes me to write this,
their spotlight moment ended,
but how beautiful they were!
What beauty that is so free for the taking.
This morning, the sun is playing peek-a-boo
with not only the leaves but also the creamy white blossoms
of the dogwood tree.
I stay in awe at Your wonders,
the ever-changing landscape,
the seasons, and the animals and flowers that come,
stay for a while,
then make way for the next sharing of beauty.
I awake to a golden sky
and the sound of my daughter’s laughter.
Oh, God, the azaleas are so beautiful.
The colors, from the palest to the brightest,
blend perfectly,
and I am in awe at Your handiwork.
May
Thank You for another night and yet another month.
Each month seems to go by at almost warp speed.
When first I woke,
there was a peachy golden glow to the east,
but now it appears that rain is in the near forecast.
Graytail bounded across the roof
and into the mulberry tree,
but we didn’t study each other this morning.
Maybe he was seeking shelter from the coming rain.
The leaves outside my window
seem to be doing their morning calisthenics.
It is somewhat overcast right now,
but today is supposed to be
sunny and bright and eighty degrees,
a duplicate of yesterday.
The sunniness of the morning
and the rustling of the leaves
really look like a beautiful spring day in the making.
From where I sit,
it appears to be sunny but very breezy.
The telephone shatters the late morning silence,
and I am grateful for the sun
playing shadows with the leaves.
I am so glad the people of the
could see through the distractions
and negative campaign ads in the presidential race
between Obama and Clinton.
It is time for unity and reconciliation
of the peoples of the
There is so much talent here that we could solve
so many challenges by working together.
I hope we can all be more aware
of our oneness
instead of our separateness
and our prejudices.
Bless the people of
as well as the people still affected
by the after effects of Katrina.
It still amazes me how rapidly the
can muster aid for those thousands of miles away
while ignoring the tragedy at home.
This is the latest I have slept in a long time,
and on this overcast morning,
it feels good!
Thank You for time to sleep and think
and just BE.
While today may not be as warm,
the air should be better
because of the rain washing down the pollen.
Some time during the night,
the power succumbed to the rain.
It is gray and chilly and wet.
Thank You for telling me
to sleep in the chair
so that I would not be alarmed
by the C-PAP machine on strike.
Rest was wonderful,
and awaking to the call of the bladder
made me thankful for daylight.
I want to buy azaleas today
for my Mom and each of my seven sisters.
A fallen tree, by the way,
was the cause of the power outage.
Tomorrow, I start another journal.
Writing every day is truly a blessing
for which I am thankful.
Putting one’s soul on paper
is both freeing and a potent way
of recording paper prayers, thoughts, and musings.
Thank You for the writing time.
What a wonderful way to spend Mother’s Day—
at home, no cooking, family close by
and safely out of crowds and torrential rain.
I am at peace.
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