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. ❤️

I lollyed as of late

I Lollyed as of late,

in a soft and lingering spell

of not much,

except for faery and wishes and such.

yes, it’s a word.

I just made it up,

so as to tell you this very story.

I often make up words,

when there isn’t one that says quite what I would like it to.

Lolly is a little like wander,

but, not really.

There is less thinking in Lolly,

and more…knowing.

As sweet as a butter mint,

melting in your mouth.

As enchanting as a bird

taking off to the heavens.

You follow as long as you are able…

softening your gaze,

so you can see,

that which no one else can.

Lolly wings you farther away

than you have ever been

in a single dawn to dusk.

No clocks hang there,

Ticking…where you should be.

instead..

only dreamy escapes at half past maybe three.

A train will carry you there,

ferry you there,

tarry you there…

until the gentle rhythm

eases your weary spirit

in a way you didn’t believe possible.

Disembark now,

let go the path…

but not alone.

You are never alone.

There is no far apart in Lollying…

…only ever closer.

Didn’t you know?

eventually……you will arrive,

in a breezy glen of painted blossoms,

ruffled and freckled

and tenderly laced.

Fragile petals spilling over the edges

into tomorrow circle

and backwards too

into yesterday lane.

Beyond even this prize

is a cozy dozy nook

of forget me not treasure

simply waiting to be discovered…

right here…

almost too small

for searching grownup eyes

are the tiniest letters

carved ever so carefully,

marking this place

our place

then and now and…

always…

****

ellie894 April 4, 2019

a heart full of…

I’m tender
I’m small
hardly anything at all
but a heart full of…

I’m quiet
I’m soft
hardly anything at all
but a heart full of..

I rise from the darkness
the invisible place
with hardly anything at all
but a heart full of…

will you slow your quick pace
will you see my gift
my hardly anything at all
but a heart full of…

or will you rush
will you flee
from hardly anything at all
but a heart full of…

my gentle soul stills
your hurry your strong
bring hardly anything at all
but a heart full of…

You find me
I smile
hardly anything at all
but a heart full of…

White Sky Day

White sky days…I love them as much as blue sky days.  Like an empty page waiting to be filled with text, handwriting, or a splash of paint, there is a story in a white sky day.  Your story.  My story.  A legend.  A fairytale.  A hero.  Blue sky days carry me into forever. White sky days bring forever home to me. The air is heavy with moisture as though I’m in the heart of the cloud itself and it is holding me close to the earth in a gentle embrace.  White goes on as endlessly as blue does but closer somehow.  These days slow me down inside and out leaving behind an inner repose that calms my soul of its worldly concerns.   I look more closely at the smallest things.  My eye searches the forest floor rather than soaring to the tops of the tallest pines.  White sky days don’t always bring rain.  Nevertheless, there is a respite from the brightness of the sun.  No squinting today.  Perhaps that’s why I see more.   The brightest sun on the bluest day lifts my spirits joyfully but keeps my eye moving in self-defense.  Some moments are beautiful because of the softness in the air rather than in the glory of the light.  Science tells me that white is not the absence of color but rather the gathering together of all color.   Whether it is in the form of a bit of glass or a raindrop, a prism takes white light apart and we are gifted with a rainbow.  The chance to see that out of the seeming nothingness of white comes the blessing of all color.  How wonderful is that?!  An artist chooses white to guide my eye carefully through a painting.  At least that’s what I’ve read and after plenty of gazing, it does seem to work out that way.  A dash of white draws me from this place to the next one, from a hand to a cheekbone to the twinkle of an eye, the very window to the soul.  Does the Artist create it just so?  The light is softer on a day like this allowing me to gaze as long as I like. The whites of the ground reach  out to me as though just a smidgen of eternity has fallen to the earth.   These days have a lonesome feel to them.  Not in a sad way.  Rather, it is as though there is something unseen and you feel it must be lovely, if only…    When rainfall does accompany a day such as this then soon faery mushrooms will emerge here and there and the tiniest frogs will cover my path.  One can almost set a clock by these moments.  When enough moisture comes to rest on the ground mushrooms gather within themselves all they need to put on a lovely show.  I look forward to them and begin watching for a hint of a dirt mound suggesting there’s a surprise waiting.  Mushrooms rise up in the same places over and over again. Usually something has died in that spot, the remains of a tree decaying invisibly under foot.  Even in its absence the mighty tree continues to offer life.  Is anything ever truly gone away?  Next time you notice one mushroom, look around, there may in fact be a circle of them where the base of a majestic tree once stood.  Legend names that a magical faery ring.  First a tiny mountain of earth is disturbed.  The next day I might begin to see a touch of color. After that it is truly a mushroom but still contained within its own reality, a closed  umbrella waiting to open at the first sign of rain.  Finally and dramatically it opens itself to the world in trust.  Mushroom!  A room of mush?  A room for mush?  Room to gather what seems mush to me and create something stunning in its complexity and beauty although sadly short-lived.  Mushrooms of all sizes shapes and colors seem to fall in the realm of the faery world, don’t they.  They are petite and invisible most of the time but when they do show themselves there always seems to be a bit of magic nearby as though you might have just missed something quite extraordinary when you were blinking.  Was that a hint of a wing or only a leaf  being carried by the breeze?  Who can tell?  By the following day one can already see signs of the end.  The tiny life begins to split  and brown around the edges.  Its bright color of the day before is fading.  In one more day it will be gone altogether and perhaps forgotten.   Like the snows of winter it will return though, on the heels of a white sky day.  Then once more I will slow to the world and open my heart to the eternity hiding in the smallest seemingly bit of nothing.

Are You Busy Too?

Busy.  Busy work. Busyness.  Business. Busybody.  Busy.  Everyone is busy these days.  We have to move fast to accomplish all that needs to be done.  We’re proud to be busy.  And we feel a little guilty if we’re not.  I know all the reasons that one stays busy, keeps busy, needs to be busy.  One has responsibilities after all. A family to care for. Bills to pay.  A job to keep.  A community to be involved in. You know, stuff to do.   And, those are valuable and beautiful things to have in one’s life, worthy of your time.   At what point though do we lose sight of the fact that we’re human beings and not just human doings?  Sometimes life hands us a slow motion view of what we’re doing and sometimes we slow down long enough to see it.  Really see it. A few years ago I was working on a bulletin board project at a school.  I was playing with children’s art work to display it to its very best.  Their choice of colors and styles was so much fun!  Their art teacher was fantastic at guiding each of them to their very best.  Occassionally  someone would walk by and we exchanged pleasantries.  Soon enough I’d be back at my joyful task.  I saw a friend coming whom I hadn’t seen in a while and I paused.  We hugged and greeted each other warmly.  There was an air of electricity about her. And, when I asked, how are you. Busy! she replied with fervor and anxiety.  Can’t stop now.  We’ll catch up soon.  That was several years ago and we haven’t really caught up yet.  She’s a fine woman whom I call friend,  involved in helping more people in more ways than I can count.  But, in that moment I was struck mostly by the word – busy – in all of its glory and sadness.  How much simple goodness is right in front of us but we’re moving too fast to notice it.  How many people reach out to us in ways we never see…because we’re too busy to see them.  Sadness is often quiet I think.  We have to be still to reach out and ease it for another.  We have to be slow enough in our movements and thoughts to show someone, I see you.  You’re all good.  That’s all most of us want anyway, just to feel that someone really knows us where we are and that we’re ok.  Well, I realized then that I don’t want to be that way.  Busy, I mean.  Too busy. Electric busy. Georgia O’Keeffe said “Nobody sees a flower really; it is so small.  We haven’t time, and to see takes time – like to have a friend takes time.”  That’s how I’d like to move through life.  Gracefully.  Seeing.  Taking time instead of letting time take me.  Don’t get me wrong, I fail miserably often and have to slow down and restart.  It’s easy to get caught up in a whirlwind of activity. But, these days I try to be where I am.  When I manage it and open myself to what’s right before me, I can’t even begin to tell you how all the small unnoticed moments glow with a beauty all their own. Time spent or thoughts shared with those you already know and care about takes on a sacred delight.   Then there are people I don’t know at all who have shared beautiful and sometimes sad things with me.  They don’t want anything from me. It’s as though they simply need to say something and feel they’re being heard.  A gift of sorts that I really can’t explain.  And, I never see them again.  Still, in that moment it seems that I’m right where I’m supposed to be for a reason I don’t understand and will probably never know.  I don’t know if any of them recall the stranger who listened but I remember each of them… as a flower I stopped long enough to see.   It’s not a busy thing but it does take time.  Time that I’m happy to give away.

P. S. The photo at the beginning. How much time did you take to look and what did you see? Sky? Well, it is and it isn’t. It’s really a picture of the water.  The water reflecting a stormy sky.  The circle in the center is the sun. In less than a minute this didn’t exist anymore. One small minute to see water and storm clouds and sun altogether before it vanished.