once a snowflake fell…

Once a snowflake fell

Upon a mountaintop

And melted into

..an ever flowing stream

Even then,

It did not stop

As the gentle river became

A dream, floating on…

And on, or so it seemed…

Once a snowflake drifted, now

A drop of water,

In its travels did carry long

Unto the ocean deep

It wound its way

It found its way

In daylight hours

And, in the ones

..of deepest sleep

Around the world

Again and overmore

…how long..and long

no one knows, for sure

No calendar

Nor clock to keep

As gracefully, time did

Pass..

without a warning,

Or fanfare or anything much

The soulful drop,

was gathered and lifted

From where it had been

As if by a purposeful hand

Taken so carefully

From the waves of the sea

..to the dryness of the land

By way of the rolling thunder

Trumpeting, the dawn’s question..

Sounding the awakening

That knows no earthly bounds

And so, given

By sun and bluest sky

This lovely…once a snowflake,

Once a stream

Once a river

Once a dream

Once an ocean

Once a rain

Once a touch of everything….

Now a gentle dewdrop,

..at rest upon my skin…

….for but a moment in forever…

****

ellie894 April 24, 2020

all at once I know…

I cannot yet say that there’s a welcome chill in the air

…but it is finally September…

Could you hear the sigh in me

As I wrote it out full…

September…

Last night a deer felt at home in the field

This morning,

A hawk graces the sky above me

My creek saunters on

As lyrically as always

To wherever it goes

But to my gaze it all seems the tiniest bit different

Far more exquisite than mere words

Can tell

It shimmers from the inside

As though by a faery’s whispered spell

I take a step

And another

…and another still

Gentle ones made carefully

So as not to disturb the tender things

That call the ground home

While I search the pine straw for a feather

…there isn’t one to be found

Perhaps there will be when I return

In time for the sun to wish me goodnight

Oh, eventime…

Will the colors be brilliant in their last hurrah

Or faded and comforting

Like my favorite soft jeans

We’ll see

But I don’t want to miss this moment

In anticipation of that one

And so back to now,

Woodpeckers knocking behind me

And turtles preparing to laze themselves long

Hour after hour

Upon the finest fallen log

I wonder at what they will see

While I am away this day

I breathe deeply in

The sweet air of a new dawn

After all it is September…

Some days there is a peace that comes

That nearly overwhelms me,

As silent as a single feather drifting

As mighty as the golden setting sun

All at once my heart knows

Beyond all knowing

That this…

…this is what love feels like…

****

ellie894 September 4, 2019

I could play with these thoughts a while longer and make them just so. I wonder if I’ve made a mistake somewhere that I’ll discover only after I share. So please forgive any missteps. I want only to give them away before this day gets away from me. They’re yours now and my hope is that you’ll find something lovely in them of your very own to keep. May you all find joy and kindness in the days ahead. ❤️

in the heart of every moment…

The music beckoned to me

To go

So I went

In search of what

I cannot be sure

But, when I came to rest

Deep within the soul

Of my own belonging

I looked down to my feet

Planted firmly upon the sturdy ground

And what to my enchantment

Did I find there….

…but an ancient,

primeval forest…

A wildness beyond my imagining

As near as my touch…

It contained its own bewildering completion

Before it would ever even begin

I am mesmerized

As I leave it behind me

Will it stay there

Where I first found it

Or will it travel farther than far

To become all that it was meant to be

The music beckons to me

To go on

So I go

Wondering as I do

At how many moments in a day

Hold the vast possibility of everything

Yet, we move too quickly

To know they are there

I see a primeval forest

At home in the depths of your gaze

I see an ancient universe

Dance in the sparkle of your smile

In the heart of every moment

Eternity is hoping

To become the love story

That it was always meant to be…

****

ellie894 July 30, 2019

Listening to Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony

My Dear Brave Knight

Bravely He set out to play

A questing Knight on a summer’s day

With rope he tied his wagon to the brightest daytime star

A rolled up map to guide him on his journey far

There were dots and dashes and so much more

X marked the spot of buried gems galore

The wagon was empty

The Knight hadn’t a care

Only to wander and to search

All that was out there

He discovered a stone from the castle of Arthur

An arrow from Robin Hood’s bow

Even the Captain’s hook that Peter took

When he was young and bold

And so many more besides them

At the very least forty and four times four

He marked the map with this and that

Each time to the wagon he added a prize

That very first X…

The one that marked the pirate’s private spot…

Soon it was hidden amongst so many others

And his wagon was heavy

With all he had collected along the way

And the Knight was lost

Surrounded by forest

In the heat of the summer

And nary a breeze

Only the hum of cicadas stirring the trees

With weary arms and downcast eyes

He paused for a spell

In the dragons shadow that long ago fell

Silence descended

What would He do

Dwarves and giants

Threatened his quest

The great unknown would never let him rest

A lone leaf from overhead

Drifted through the air

Coming to rest upon the ground

And with it a notion he discovered

A plan did now appear

His eyes burned with excitement

The fire he did not fear

He must climb the mountain

Search the horizon far and wide

And know the way that called to him

From somewhere deep inside

The map with all its marks was useless to him now

The wagon laden with objects of the past

Was nothing but a burden on this new journey that He faced

Each thing must be left behind like an X upon the parchment

If He would reach the pinnacle

And begin to find his truth

So, bravely He set out to play

A questing Knight on a summer’s day

One step at a time

His tired legs did climb

Leaving the map and the path…

Letting go…

Of the castle stone

…the mighty staff

…the protective cloak

And oh so very much more…

Until, at last he reached the very top

Looking over all the way that He had come

His wagon long empty now

Light as a feather in the fading sun…

Yet his heart was overflowing

Eyes open and searching below

As a smoky mist curled up high

Marking an X in the evening sky

There was the treasure!

So true and so prized

Heart racing wildly

He jumped in the wagon

Pushed off with his feet

He steered with great care

Down the face of the mountain

Quickly he sped….

As It all flew passed him

Every great moment

That lead to this one here and now

The darkest forest

…raging seas

….wisdom of silence

……..knowing breeze

Then…

His wagon slowed and stopped

Before the waiting door

Wide and joyfully it opened

To He…so brave…

And there waited She….

She who gathered him to herself

As the treasure that He was

In a sweet embrace

And a gentle kiss to his dirt smudged face

How I’ve missed you So

My dear brave knight

While you have been so long away

Tell me…

Wherever did you go

Whatever did you see

On this fine fine summer’s day

And He began to tell the tales

Of the beastly and magical moments won

As She listened and loved

And loved and listened

Well beyond the setting of the summer sun…

****

ellie894 December 18, 2018

Trust in the Bacon

I write everyday.  You probably do too.  A text, an email, a grocery list.  Anytime you string words together for whatever reason, you’re writing.  Writing doesn’t have to look like a story.  I’ve been writing as long as I can recall.  My script was so small in middle school that my poor teacher couldn’t even make it out with her reading glasses.  She asked me very kindly to write larger please.  I hope that I did. These days I wake up before 5am each morning, to write.  Yes, on purpose.  Jack has just a wee bit to do with it though.  I start the coffee, settle the dogs and gather my things.  I write in the kitchen in an old-fashioned grade school spiral notebook with a pencil.  I prefer a yellow spiral but find that other colors accept my thoughts just as well.  It’s silly how we fall into certain routines, isn’t it.  Nevertheless, there they are.  For instance, Ellie at nearly 100 pounds can only seem to rest at night if she’s right up next to me.  I have awakened with more than a few creaks as you can imagine.  But she’s my sweet girl so, there I am.  Back to writing…  Some mornings I’m quite lost and stare at the page not knowing where to begin.  Emptiness waiting to be filled.  There is a beauty in empty spaces.  In Japanese culture emptiness is thought to be Full of Nothing.  And from nothing comes everything… nothing is pure potential… I find that delightfully amazing! When someone asks me out of curiosity what’s in all those spirals.  I giggle and say – a whole lot of nothing.  And it’s true really.  My spirals aren’t meant to Be anything.  They’re just me listening to myself I suppose.  Oddly enough writing that I’m lost often gets me off and running.  How many thoughts do we have in a day, or in an hour, and how many of them are we able to explore and play with to our hearts content.  Not many.  Life tugs at us to keep moving.  So, when I stop long enough to write in my spiral or here on wordpress where do I begin and then where do I go from there.   Do you know where you’ll end up before you arrive or is it more of a wonderful happenstance.  Even if you board the right train with the right ticket punched for Timbuktu, can you  be certain that’s where you’ll get off, where your journey will end?  I will admit a terrible secret.  Often when I begin reading a book, I turn first to the back and check out the ending.  It’s not because I want to judge whether the story is worth my time.  It’s not even because I want to know how it ends.  And it doesn’t spoil the book for me at all.  In fact the opposite is true.  It helps me to let go of reading as a means to find out what the ending will be.  I let go of the worry of what will happen.  It frees me to enjoy the rambling journey of the story itself.  The twists and turns take on a liveliness of their own.  The darkness of the forest holds beauty as well as fear and doubt.  Because I know how the story will turn out I pause long enough to see both rather than hurrying through assuming either the best or the worst.  Of course real life doesn’t allow me to live backwards knowing what will happen.  I’m good with that.  I have no desire to know.   Ellie, Jack, Huckleberry, Bo and Sonya trust we will walk everyday no matter the weather.  They know the lake is ready for a swim when they get there.  They believe there will be squirrels to chase and interesting smells to dig for.  And with every fibre of their being they trust that when the walk comes round once again to Home there will be the wonders of bacon snacks waiting for them as if by magic.  Beyond even the bacon is a soft safe spot to sleep away the afternoon.  No worries.  Perhaps I should read the way I live, forward without jumping to the last page.  Perhaps I should live the way I read, taking one page at a time grateful to be where I am and  wondering at what will come next.  Perhaps I should let go and trust more easily the way my four legged companions do. Perhaps I should face the empty page with the pure anticipation of the fullness of nothing.  Enjoy the journey and Trust in the bacon!

 

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life is good when you’re me