tucked away…

I often write things

that I fear are not worth reading

So, I tuck them neatly away

Fragile thoughts folded in upon themselves

The words fade and the pages yellow

As a memory floats into view

*

…of being ten years old

picking blackberries

in a blazing Texas summer sun

no clouds, no shade, no wind

while my cheeks burn red

my pail remains nearly empty

as i search endlessly

hand to mouth

for the One…

you know which I mean

the One that brightens your lips

in a triumphant juicy smile

of sweet buried treasure

once lost

now found

I eat far more than I put in my pail

it remains nearly empty

so tomorrow

there will be no cobbler

or biscuit jam

tonight

there will be no need of dinner

or dessert

only a cool bath gently run

to soothe my fiery skin

the search was everything

it filled me and fed me

left me weary

in the nicest of ways

sleep will surely come

claiming me for its restful own…

*

Tucked away somewhere

Are some yellowed pages bearing faded words

That I should wander through

It is time

To take them out of hiding

Unfold them

And see if anything has ripened

Sweet enough

To fill a nearly empty pail

Perhaps,

In the morning

We shall have biscuits with blackberry jam

And in the evening

Warm cobbler with cold ice cream

And after that,

When the stars come forth to shine

And the fireflies begin their nightly tango

We shall sleep the weary peaceful sleep

Of being ten years old

At the end of a perfect summer’s day

****

ellie894 June 4, 2019

Again please!

Early last evening I drifted off to the sounds of a favorite song on repeat. I wonder how they do it, the composers I mean. However do they know which notes to place beside each other. They choose so carefully. How can they be certain that these two will be more beautiful if they are together. The best music is that way. I can’t listen enough. It is over too soon. I only want it to go on and on…

When I awakened at midnight the song had stopped. But, the rain had just begun. It came strong against the roof. I love it when it does and I haven’t anywhere to be. If only the roof was a tin one…. I snuggled under the covers and deeper into dreams. There were wings there, so many beautiful wings.

I chose some flower bulbs a few weeks ago. The lilies will be a rainbow of colors. The clematis will climb and cover the fence. I am most looking forward to the hollyhocks. I’ve never managed them before. If all goes well they will be tall spires of ruffled pastels. I hope…They are waiting on me. The days are warm enough. There is plenty of rain. I even know where they will be planted. It is time.

A new bunny friend has taken up residence in the nearby woods. She drives the dogs berserk going through the fence at her leisure. She comes and goes as if she owns the place. “It’s been awfully nice, see ya soon!” she calls over her fluffy cottontail. Meanwhile Jack and Dobby bark in helpless frustration that they cannot follow. Good for her!

Have I ever told you that early memory at my very first home? The one when I was very young. The story of the yellow sofa. Oh, I must tell you that one soon. It’s such a happy thing. It’s nice to tuck away the sweet ones and keep them. Like the time you said to me….

Yes, that one’s very dear. I treasure it…as I do you…

Yesterday was the Easter egg hunt! I wish you could have seen the children lined up in a row clutching tight their baskets. They waited so patiently to be let loose in the grass. Anticipation filled the emptiness! I was paired with a new little girl who was heart sad with missing her daddy. But, for a while she let go of her sorrow to search for beauty at her tiny feet. I noticed her pass over the purples and the blues in favor of the pinks and yellows. It touched my heart the way she carefully chose what was just right for her. It wasn’t about having the most or even about having more. A few lovely eggs were enough.

Do you know what I love…that there was plenty…of everything. No one was left out. All belonged. All were found. Happy baskets. Smiling children. And the sky was kind enough not to rain until we had had our fun. One sweet face looked up at me in pure joy and asked – can we do that again?! All over again! I don’t think he even realized there was something inside of the eggs. The search was joyful gift enough.

Now, I’m in a quiet place, one I come to over and again. It’s a searching kind of place where the being here is gift enough. I’m writing to you as I listen to a favorite song on repeat. And I wonder how the composer knew how all those beautiful notes would be even more lovely beside each other….

****

ellie894 April 18, 2019