Seasons pass, birds fly,
twinkling hues, circle of stars
A gift for your Soul.
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Love circles me, you
deep in swollen pink velvet
blush with pride, equals.
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Hello? Rhia a tall young woman with beautiful red hair, trailing down her back, was taking a walk past fields of grass through the lush green forest when she stopped short in front of the most beautiful image she had ever seen. She gasped, just staring at this magical wagon, with different colors, different textures. She said “Hello? again.” It was odd, she was sure she could hear whispers and giggling but she didn’t see anyone around. She felt incredibly safe so she climbed up the steps and peered into the wagon.
Rhia was a quiet but very strong young woman, having lived on the streets and shelters before, but as soon as she got to the top step she suddenly she felt a rush of happiness and love enveloping her. She never felt this feeling before. She walked around the carriage noticing the brilliant colors and daring to touch the lovely, embroidered, velvet and cotton and silk fabrics. She listened closely the sounds that the bells made swinging in the air.
She KNEW she had to know more about this magical place, she couldn’t leave, she would not leave for anything in the world. Her life, in the past had always been disconnected, she loved no one, no one loved her. She had never known what happiness was but she was beginning to think that a miracle had happened.
Today was the first day she felt a thrill of excitement and joy, her life was, from one minute to the next, blooming in vivid colors. She was part of a tapestry of richness and the Earth, magic, starlight, sun, moon. Immediately, her dull, tough, cold past and all that she once knew disappeared. She couldn’t remember anything that had happened before this day, but she knew by the way her heart was warming up inside her, she had just arrived home.
Rhia had been a wanderer before this, a sad, lonely young teen with fiery red hair trailing down her back. She had been born to live with nature, and as soon a she entered the wagon, she met a beautiful, mystical woman who she felt an immediate connection with, her name was Mother Ash. Ash and Rhia had been searching for each other for so many years not that they knew it, until they met that day and then they knew they would never be apart, not for a single day.
Together, they lived in the magical wagon with animals as their extended family to keep them company, to give them a home, to feed each other to sing songs together at night, to wake up together in the glorious sunshine.
A wolf was their best friend, and a furry-red haired fox that they knew must have been one of Rhia’s younger siblings, their hair was so similar.
Two large dogs stayed with them to protect them and keep them warm and two goats named Larry and Lena provided milk and home-made honey-lavender ice cream. The bees that swarmed were friendly, offering honey and among the grass precious plants grew, sweet-smelling lavender, mint and chives, dill and there was a huge vegetable garden that could keep them eating happily for months. They had eggs and cheese and of course they had no meat, how could they eat their friends?
The wagon never moved, except in their imagination. They didn’t want to hurt horses by making them pull, horses were their friends. Finally, when Rhia and Ash had lived there for three weeks and three days, the faeries and gnomes, feeling satisfied, presented themselves to Rhia and Ash. They had to be sure that these were the right people and of course they were.
At night, you could hear music that the animals played together, the sweet sound of the faeries giggling around the circle that they made, music played by the owls in their trees, the birds tweeting their flutes and the squirrels banging softly on their drums.
Rhia and Ash lived there forever, with more and more animals joining them, the sky in the morning was sunny every day, the night ended softly, phasing out with a beautiful blend of colors, a gorgeous sunset, that all the friends sat together and waved to say good-night to the sun.
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English: Two candles in love. The flame is inverted heart shape. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
My name is Jhana, I am very old but I have a young friend translating for me. She knows ‘Merican language real good. Now we start: “The pain in Jhana’s old heart was searing now. The intensity, the throbbing came and went but there were times when she would kneel on the dirty, muddy floor and weep. She only did that when she was sure she was alone. Jhana’s children, all except one, brothers and sisters all lived near-by but she was not looking for comfort, she knew there was none. None for this type of her anguished heart.
We are alone with our grief she had learned through the hard times even though we have family for whom we bless. It took more bravery and strength to be able to hold on to love, than to dismiss it. Love is fleeting, like birds in the sky. That, she knew. Love was there, deep down but could you feel it all the time? Of course not. You had to imagine it, rely on it, pray that it would be there or come back to you. Have faith. Love was an assumption only.
Love was not the “smiling, holding hands” we would look at in the American magazines that the girls would find and hide under mats, and yes we let them. They looked at something called “romance” not true love but we let them. They did not yet know our plans to move to ‘Merica in a year or two years.
Here, in India, I would look at second daughter’s face as if I was looking through her, I had no problems with my other four children. Why was this child so different? The love was always there in my heart, in her father’s heart and siblings. What happened that was different for this child of mine? How could she not know our love? Did she not know that her father and I blessed the differences from her and the others. She was our pearl, our stand-alone gem. If anything she was more loved but would not take it inside herself.
The other older children could play and work and keep busy but this one held feelings deep inside her heart or just could not communicate. There was hurt and anger, deep inside hammered in to her heart but yet she could not forgive. Nor would she allow us to apologize for something we did not know about. She would not give in, she would be strong, very strong. But, I knew better, of course I did. Well, I thought I did. I was her mother.
This was not a betrayed love, this was a love that ran so deep, only a mother could know. I waited patiently until the day she would find her way back to me. Where did we go wrong I asked the husband? He said of course “we did nothing wrong, she is the child.” But, a mother is different, I tried to tell him. No, that is not the answer.” he told me.
I imagined looking at your face with my two hands one on each side like pressing on cold, hard glass. Press too hard and chips of glass would embed themselves in your fingers, blood would run down slowly each time. Not enough to scream but just enough to notice. I would imagine you trying to get away, twisting, fighting and screaming but my love for you was stronger than everything. You could not run away forever. I held you close, I would not let you go, ever.
I tried to forget the unforgiving words told to me about what you called me and how you viewed me because I do not follow that life. Love was a mystery that couldn’t be easily explained. Where was the joy, the simplicity, the laughter of love? Did it exist past the many layers of the wall you created? As a mother I dearly hoped but I could not know, you would not allow me to know.
Beautiful child, lovely child. No matter how old you are, you still live in my heart no matter what you do or don’t do. There is the difference. I will always cherish you, always love you, for the goodness in you that I see, that I feel. Yes, certainly. Two hearts, even those estranged, can come back and beat as one.
Until the last breath I will love you. Do you hear me child? Does anyone? I will say it again and again since I cannot see you, my eyes have failed me many years ago. But, I would still know your face, my hands might be gnarled and brittle with illness but my heart knows, will always know that you, beautiful heart, was so blessedly loved every second of every day and night.
I will wait until the last breath has left my body, which dear one, I know will be soon. I will never give up on you, you see I was learning Patience too and different ways of loving. None was right, none wrong. I was changing too.
That is a mother’s truth spoken in my body now and in the next life. I promise this to you. I love you now and forever. Look for me at night, in the sky, I will be watching you still, loving you, when I am gone.”
Happily tired, accomplished, cooking meals for others, gathering things for my children. My dog, Lexi, darts in-between my legs, she tries to fight with me as I dance, alone, to the music that is playing from my computer. After watching me dance, she gives up and looks at me quizzically, she doesn’t want to be involved in THIS game, her bone is definitely more interesting. If dancing is considered exercise then I am in pretty good shape. To me, music, my music, stuck in the 70’s and 80’s makes everything feel better.
I laugh aloud, if people would see me they would question my sanity but I really don’t care, I sing horribly, but at top volume, to any song that I know. This is the joy and wisdom of being over fifty.
Granted, if my children were home they would not find this amusing at all, so I would just shut my door and continue to dance, but I know I would not feel the same way. I would feel too constricted, like a bird with a wounded wing. I can ignore judgment from other people but from my children it is definitely harder.
Being healthy and happy is all that matters, taking life one step at a time. Once in a while I get ahead of myself, and I pay the price. Today, I am enjoying, my dog, the quiet of the empty streets, the smell of vanilla lingering in my kitchen and the sound of my laughter as I continue to dance around the fake Spanish tiles in my kitchen floor. The music is loud, everything is balanced; I appreciate what I have this moment.
“i’d rather teach one bird how to sing than teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.”
e.e. cummings
I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/e/eecummin176712.html#AVsOVhZKeqGSPbss.99
I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/e/eecummin176712.html#AVsOVhZKeqGSPbss.99
I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/e/eecummin176712.html#AVsOVhZKeqGSPbss.99
I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach ten thousand stars how not to dance.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/e/eecummin176712.html#AVsOVhZKeqGSPbss.99
English: Red-headed Woodpecker (Melanerpes erythrocephalus). Canada Rondeau Provincial Park, Ontario, Canada. Image collected at the feeders behind the Visitor Centre. Français : Pic à tête rouge. Parc provincial Rondeau, Ontario, Canada. Cliché pris aux mangeoires situées derrière le centre d’accueuil des visiteurs. 日本語: ズアカキツツキ (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I don’t see leaves on the branches through my windows anymore. I miss the lush colors of red, orange and yellow that greeted me in the daytime, gleaming from the sun. As Winter approaches and I tend to recede indoors I know that some of my winter friends are rejoicing at the prospect of snow in the near future. Honestly, I cannot relate to that one bit. I hate being cold and the fact that “you can always put on more layers” does nothing for me. When I am cold, it goes right through my body to my bones probably because I have Fibromyalgia. Cold not only hurts, it stabs repeatedly.
I drink a mug of tea, with milk and a spoonful of glistening, amber honey. It’s nice as long as the tea lasts which is probably five or six minutes. My stomach is warm and I relish the flavor but after, nothing of the warmth or the taste remains. Cold air seeps through our brand new windows.
This is the worst time of year for me, the end of Autumn, when we turn the clocks back an hour. Sure, it’s nice for that one day to get that “extra” hour of sleep ( a concept that I will never understand ) but one we pay for dearly. Winter lasts much too long for me.
I admire the skiers, snow boarders, ice skaters, I think if I had a hobby outside in the freezing temperatures it would make me happier. The only thing I enjoy in the winter at a ski lodge is drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows from a ceramic mug. I was never athletic and having “loose” bones all I need to do is trip, anywhere, and an ankle or wrist breaks and is in a cast for weeks, I’ve been in that black boot way too many times.
The only thing I like about this season is watching and listening to the birds and their songs. I fill the bird feeders regularly, that is my outdoor hobby. I sit inside and watch them play and fly and eat. I listen to the birds’ sweet songs, watch the cardinal couples flying back and forth through the trees to feed each other and to sing happily. I love that they come in couples. They bring me the only piece of joy in the long winter months. At least I have that.
English: The Mother Orange Tree, the oldest living orange tree in Northern California. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
I often refer to my husband and myself as Empty Nesters, stuck between two worlds. We still live in the home where we raised our children, paying outrageous school taxes even though both kids are in college. My mother and sister both live nearby and my husband’s parents live close by as well. But, I know, deep inside, this is not where I want to end up for the rest of our lives. I’m sure you have heard the term “The Sandwich Generation” before, it defines us as it does most of the aging “Baby Boomers.” I shudder when I even think of the term “Aging Boomers.” Us? Really?
I have wanted to move to the West Cost for a long time since I was a kid and my dad mentioned he had a possible job interview in California. For someone who is not good with change, I was so excited about the prospect. I imagined a little white house and garden with bright red flowers on the boarders, an orange tree in the back yard and a red dog named Rusty.
Here, in the Northeast the weather is too cold and I’ve always hated cold weather. For those of you who enjoy the cold and love its sparkling freshness, enjoy it. For all you skiers out there, have a great time racing down those sleek, icy hills, I would be in the chalet drinking hot chocolate with whipped cream anyway. The cold weather makes me hurt all over in general and living with the chronic pain illness, Fibromyalgia, the cold, bone-chilling weather makes my bones and muscles hurt even more. There is nothing I can do about that except accept it.
I admit, I used to feel closed in not knowing when and where we would move in the future but now it feels alright, in fact it feels safe. Chaos will surely occur if there is any major change and for someone like me, change is always hard. For me, ” A Good Change” is an oxymoron. For little things, I need 24-48 hours to get used to change that is even mildly disturbing, imagine a huge change? The mere thought of moving away from my sister and mother brings tears to my eyes. My children will come visit when they can, it is their turn to live now. So maybe being “stuck” is not so bad, maybe being stuck is just being “safe.” If I look at it that way, I’m doing alright. Actually, pretty good. I’m enjoying nature in the suburbs, the sweet red cardinals chirping in the trees, the changing of the leaves, the different seasons. Change will happen by itself, there are things we can’t control, health, employment, our children moving away, us moving away, sickness, death. Life brings us one change after another, so right now where we are “stuck” is really a time to rest and appreciate. Whatever comes next, will be very, very different; we will get used to it in time but it won’t be easy to call that place home with all the pieces in the puzzle fitting right into place for a long time. I’m just going to appreciate what I have now, not look backwards and not look forwards, be in the present. Sounds good, right? I’m trying the best that I can.
a drawing of a 4 piece jigsaw puzzle (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Bats (Photo credit: fatedsnowfox)
Bat (Photo credit: Lee Carson)
English: Echolocating bats adjust their vocalizations to catch insects against a changing environmental background. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Wretched, beady-eyed
evil destruction, black wings
touch my hair, spit, scream.
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*Birds, I squealed, look, dad
clinging, high pitch, flying, close
Go to mom, lock door!
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*When I was four or five, there were bats in our apartment which was on the top floor. My father shooed my mom and me into the bedroom while he would take care of them. Armed with a towel or two he played hero while my mother and I hid. He told us to come out when it was safe. I remember sitting on his shoulders as he took me around to reassure me. Around the corner I remember squealing quite happily:” Look, Daddy, Birdie.” Sure enough there was one bat left. Again, we locked ourselves in the room until this bat too was swatted out of our sixth floor window. To this day, I am absolutely terrified of bats. I can barely look at them (even the photos in this post) and if one flew near my head I would most likely scream, fall to the floor and faint. Happily.I have a terribly phobia of bats now.
When my daughter was little and we went to the zoo, she took my hands and led me away to protect me from seeing the bats. I have never forgotten that and I never will. Thank you, sweetheart.
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all photos property of the owners.
157 Flowers in the Sky (Photo credit: Andreas.)
You’re kidding right? As if there was a choice, at least for me….Anyone who knows me is probably laughing now. Fall hardening into winter? Not a chance in the world. Ever. I hate the winter, hate to be cold, hate the length of winter, the slippery snow and ice. Nothing appeals to me about long winters, I’ve been begging to move to a warmer climate but we can’t do that just yet.
I know people say that because we have these long winters we appreciate spring more but I have to say I don’t think there is anyone else that appreciates spring more than me. The beauty of a sun drenched sky, sun warming my shoulders, daffodils popping up, pink flowers lighting up the blue sky, the first crocus; I am grateful for every one of them. The cardinals come home, chirping their happy song, flying, their red coats, like a flash of reward and hope.
Wind through the Wheat (Photo credit: David Kingham)
Birds tweet, winds thunder
Seasons fight with noisy swords
Silent depression.
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Baby crying raw
Dad screams in red-hot anger
Sandpaper (Photo credit: ArtByChrysti)
Blue plates thrown, splinter.
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Ocean spray whistles
Sand paper’s scratchy surface
Two lovers kissing.
crying-baby (Photo credit: bbaunach)
Swallow-tail Kite Bird Flying With Wing Spread Gliding Through Sky (Photo credit: Captain Kimo)
February 7 2010 – Ballet Pointe Shoes (Photo credit: jackharrybill)
Heart beat (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Tiny ballet feet
twisted in pointe shoes of pink
scatter like scared mice.
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Birds of flight, soaring
escaping sadness, run free
My soul cracks in pieces.
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See, touch, my scarred heart
Compress air, laid out to die
A faint beat slows down.
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