Miss Ellie Wishes ….

We are on morning walk just now…

My very own Royal We 🙂

There are six of Us.

Five nosey noses.

Five eager tails.

Ten floppy ears.

Twenty! Count them Twenty muddy exploring paws!

And…me…

The air is more gentle than it has been in weeks, a gift to be certain.

The light is stunning and graceful falling through the trees.

My finned friends circle and churn the once still water below the pier.

I wonder if they remember me, anticipating the morning offering I bring each day.

I have no idea what this day will bring, to my doorstep or to my heart…

But, for now, in this one moment there is a sweet hope…

That all shall be well…

Miss Ellie wishes each of you a brilliant day!

suzanne❤️

Clyde

Once upon a time…

There was a crocodile named Clyde. He was rather lonesome and lost.

But, when Clyde slept he dreamed wonderful dreams of a home…

One day,

Clyde fell asleep in the shade of the sweet-gum tree, beneath its branches filled with stars.

And he dreamed…of shy tortoises sunning themselves on an out stretched log.

All of a sudden…

Plink! Plonk! Plunk!

Prickly fruit dropped from the sweet-gum tree onto Clyde’s head waking him from a sound slumber.

So, he stood up on his short legs and plodded along until he found a new place.

Clyde fell asleep in the shade of the wise old oak tree, beneath its branches filled with hidden homes.

And he dreamed…of birds soaring high overhead.

All of a sudden…

Plink! Plonk! Plunk!

Marble like acorns dropped from the oak tree onto Clyde’s head waking him from a sound slumber.

So, he stood up on his short legs and strolled along until he found a new place.

Clyde fell asleep in the shade of a towering pine tree beneath its branches filled with chattering squirrels.

The pine straw made a good place to rest and soon enough he was dreaming again…of frogs hopping playfully in the mud.

All of a sudden…

Plink! Plonk! Plunk!

Pine cones dropped from the towering pine tree onto Clyde’s head waking him from a sound slumber.

With a sigh he stood up on his short legs and trekked on.

He wondered if he would ever find a true home.

His short legs carried him far across the land.

He trudged through cold winter snow.

He tiptoed through fresh spring flowers.

He twirled through dry dusty summer.

He ambled through drifting autumn leaves.

Clyde wandered through wide open spaces

And through busy noisy towns

Clyde traveled on and on…

He saw a great many wonderful things.

But, none of them felt right in his heart.

So he kept on…

Until one day when Clyde was very tired and full of despair…

He came to the edge of a great lake.

There were trees shading the banks.

There were shy tortoises sunning themselves.

There were birds soaring high overhead.

There were even frogs hopping playfully in the mud.

It was just like Clyde’s dream.

It was a quiet happy place underneath enormous skies.

Clyde thought that he would stay.

Then…

Just over there…

On the bank, half in the water and half out…

Half in the sun and half out…

Was a crocodile just like himself!

Slowly Clyde approached her…

He was a little scared…

What if she didn’t like him?

My name is Clyde. What’s yours?

Camellia, she said shyly.

That’s a lovely name. May I sit with you Camellia?

I’d like that – she said with a warm smile.

All at once…

Clyde knew

That he had found…home.

********

Written and photographed by Ellie894 February 2018

Mud Pies Rock!

Have you ever begun to tell a story only to realize that it won’t make any sense if you don’t tell this other one first. But even that one needs another one and so on and on. There you are bogged down in telling backstories until you lose sight of The story. Wait, what was the point of this? I remind myself to start writing and soon enough the details that matter will work their way in. And if they don’t, they probably don’t need to be there anyway.

I began writing this several weeks ago when it was fresh in my mind. That was late October, and now here I am surrounded by mistletoe and holly. I wasn’t ready then. Everyday seemed to throw something else at me. You know – when there’s too much, or it all comes at once, or you Find ways to be brutal to yourself. Because it’s not enough to face the world. I must seek out new and inventive ways to be unkind to myself. I should have done … I should never have said… If only I had…

When I was a little girl my Aunt had a farm in Slocum. It’s not far from where I live now. Oh, how I loved it there! Most of the time I was the only child for acres and acres. I had a beautiful freedom to wander woods and hills and all manner of places. I cannot think of the farm without remembering dozens of stories and part of me wants to tell them All!

One time I was the youngest in a group of cousins exploring a wooded creek area where a copperhead lay stretched before us. They all ran away quickly… leaving me behind. Somehow, I knew not to get too close to the living S shape. When the kids arrived back at the house without me, my dad came looking. He scooped me up and held me close…safe from harm’s way.

On the farm was a wonderful sliver of a creek that wound itself from the first pond to the second. My tiny legs could cross it in one step. It trickled under wide open skies to my great delight. Because I could be seen from the back porch I was allowed to meander down there by myself and play alone as long as I liked. A sweet joy to me… clay and all!

East Texas has clay, lots and lots of clay! Deep rich red clay. We never made a visit to the farm that my mother didn’t admonish me to be careful Not to get clay on my clothes! She said that the red clay of East Texas would stain them. It would never come out. No matter how long they soaked, no matter what kind of soap you used, your clothes would be ruined… I was never successful at staying clean which was a great frustration to her. Nevertheless, there I was baking rich red mud pies and loving every sweet minute of it.

In late October…

Ellie is still sleeping as well she should be. It’s been a long week for her…for me too. I’m afraid that if I begin to write of it I may not stop for days and that it will be too much.

Tears flow with the ups and downs of life…real life. They are at the edges of me this morning like the rain that Dobby watches from the safety and sanctuary of home. It was only a few months ago that he was lost and without a home in torrential spring weather. I wonder if he remembers that time. I wonder if it makes him happy to have a home and a family now.

Thunder woke me in the night. A gentle rumbling vibrated the whole house. Once awakened the flashes of lightning kept me entranced. Their sudden brightness invaded my dark room like a light bulb flashing on and off as one sleepily grasps at thoughts…it isn’t time for light. A glance at the clock told me it was only 3:30. Blissfully I sank further into my pillows and pulled the soft covers up around me. Not yet…I drifted back to sleep.

The overflow pipe has slowed to a trickle as the water levels in the lake drop from drought. One by one counties all around me announce burn bans. Where is ours. We should be there with the others. Not yet. With this day’s rain we may not get there at all. But I would rather have the rain than the ban anyway.

Not long ago someone built a fire in the woods near the lake. The embers they left behind and that I discovered the next morning were too strong. I let the someone who should know…know. Then, I wrote of fires and fire builders and change – embers and ashes and a lovely place to swim.

Some moments this week were not captured in a photograph.

There was the slow and measured walk around the small room with help. It was a grand achievement! Afterwards, I enjoyed a leisurely lunch with two fine gentlemen. One was a delightful conversationalist with stories of adventure. He reminds me of Santa Claus! The other man was quiet. He has lost his own stories. The way his face lights up is enough for me though.

I sat criss cross applesauce with hands in my lap just like the little ones who surrounded me. All of us were entranced with the firemen and their big red truck. Sharing photos of the children is unwise and could even be unsafe for them. How very sad our world can be. And yet their smiles sustain me all week long!

I had another backyard bunny adventure. Dobby found a prize hidden beneath the dry leaves and handed it over upon request. Perhaps not gladly…nevertheless, he did share. I held the baby gently until he caught his breath, then hopped away. Bouncing joy on four small furry feet!

One whom I love dearly had his very first author event and I was able to be there, to be some small part of it. A moment I will always treasure.

Before all of these, on Monday evening there was a scare at what might have been… I happened upon smoldering ash in a place heavy with trees and underbrush. It frightened me. Instead of a charred forest floor, it could have been far worse…far more devastating. My concern over untended fire has been ongoing for weeks now. I wake with it in the morning. I fall asleep with it at night. I am tired with thinking, what if…

I don’t know who did it. Someone probably walked away unthinking, not realizing that the tiniest embers left unchecked can creep hungrily at the dryness of the forest floor and lap at the bases of the trees.

I made the proper phone calls. And I waited. Ellie stayed close by my side. Night darkened around us as stars began to sprinkle the sky. They had a stunning beauty that hinted at the mysteries of eternity. The coyotes who began to chorus not so far away were an odd accompaniment to the stars. They sent a chill up my spine. We drew in closer, Ellie and I. What other dangers might be nearby. It is the animals who do not announce themselves that concern me. I wondered if she was thinking the same thing. We waited for the sound of a fire truck on a back country road to drive away our fear.

It took longer than you might imagine. When they arrived, the flashing lights frightened Ellie. Still, she never left me. Even when she was afraid, through the dark, the unknown, the flashing lights, the roaring sounds, the threat of danger, she stayed with me. These things should have sent her running for the safety of home. Was she too scared to leave…or, am I her safety…am I her home.

I would have understood if she had left…but I am grateful she stayed. yes, she answered me…

All ended well that night. Are we done yet? Not quite, Life answered…

A few days later dark gray clouds filled the sky as we walked. No rumbling yet, just the hopeful gathering of them. Up from the center of the field eight blackbirds took off making their way noisily to the treetops. Something about their flight reminded me to send my thoughts up high with them, on wings and let them fly. Trust in the air itself. Trust in all the goodness you cannot see.

We turned south at the end of the dam. There is a twenty foot drop that winds into a different kind of woods. We never come this way. It’ll be nice to try something new after so much unrest lately…

A short way in Ellie found a watering hole. She stepped down into it for a drink. In less time than it takes to blink, her back legs had sunk as far as they could go! I could see the panic in her eyes as she began to fight to get free. It scared me! In a flash I wondered if we were both helpless. There was no way of knowing how deep it might be. Once again this week I found myself in a place of fear…Ellie and I both did…

I dropped to my knees reaching for her to pull her towards me and to a landed edge where she could get a strong foothold. Honestly, I wasn’t thinking how or what or even why. I wasn’t really thinking at all… I was just there, holding Ellie as tight as I could and Not letting go. Anything I could grasp, I did. Talking to her…all the while pulling her back to safety.

As she was just about to break free…Dobby went in. Aargh! Dobby is shorter. Even his sides began to disappear in the thick clawing mud. Once Ellie was safely out and catching her breath, I turned my attention to freeing him. It all happened so fast.

Some sort of horrible East Texas quicksand… I finally stopped to breathe…the three of us were covered in wet red clay. My hands had disappeared under the thickness of it. I couldn’t have taken a picture if I had wanted to. The phone never would have registered my fingerprint. I could feel the mud heavy on my arms and splattered over my face. Already it was drying in places, drawing the skin tight underneath it. My heart pounded with what might have been.

With Dobby’s natural coloring he only looked soaking wet. Ellie, however, became my two toned Halloween dog! Her top half was shiny jet black while her bottom half was bright pumpkin orange. There are no pictures, only muddy fur and relief.

Dobby looked around for Bo and Jack and his next adventure. Ellie and I stuck close to each other, much as we had on Monday night. We were thinking the same thing…there’s fresh water a few yards away at the lake.

Are we done?…not yet answered life…

We turned to head towards the lake…when on our right…a magnificent buck bounded past us! He was so close that I could feel his presence more than see him. Leaves rustled as he passed us. If my arm had been outstretched his sleek fur would have grazed my fingertips. He radiated a graceful strength. His fluffy white tail waved goodbye before I fully realized he was even there. Awed by his beauty so close on the heels of our struggle to break free from the clutches of the muddy earth I could only stand and wonder at it all. There are no pictures of him either…muddy fingers and invisible grace. It all happened so fast.

A fresh batch of mud greeted us at the edge of the lake, this time it was dark gray to offset the brightish orange. But at least my hands were a little cleaner. There might be some pictures on our way home.

As I looked from my hands to my unicorn T-shirt I thought of my mother – Be careful Suzanne, your clothes will be ruined… Clothes are easily replaced. The clay of East Texas has seeped through them and into my heart – in less time than it takes to wipe away a stray tear. Stained with hope in the face of whatever may come.

As I caught my breath I thought of my Dad – how he had come for me and gathered me safely from harm. You’re never as alone as you fear you might be.

Ellie and I together fought for safety and freedom twice that week. Unknown strength filled us. And as we breathed in sighs of relief…grace flew past us at lightning speed…leaving us to wonder over all that had been or was yet to come.

Making our way home through the grassy field and happy for the surety of the ground beneath our feet, dark storm clouds closed in around us giving way here and there to glorious pockets of light. All of a sudden… Tears from all of the moments welling up from deep inside of me…

The trials, the struggles, the chaos, the beauty, the hope, the waiting, they come into your days. Each time…yes. You answer a quiet, yes. The moment and what is asked of you…yes. To be held in unimaginable ways that you will never understand. The gift of all that is needed just then and the grace to answer, yes.

How many more moments of yes lay before me. I think it’s better not to know. I might buckle under the weight of anticipating them. And then I would be too tired to answer yes when the time comes. One moment at a time. Right now…this one…a grateful heart filled with the blessings that are as close as my own heartbeat.

I will never be a woman who aspires to perfect clothes all the time or to perfect anything for that matter. Life is rich in the messy places. There is no joy without sorrow. There is no courage without fear. There is no peaceful lake unless first you dig a messy muddy hole and wait for it to be filled with life giving water.

Please be kind to others. Everyone struggles. Please be kind to yourself. You are far more loved than you can ever imagine… Now, go on out there and make a mud pie. In fact, make two, one for you and one to share…because…well…mud pies…they just Rock!

softened by rainy days

Gently this day wakes to the humming of the fan and a chill in the air. I’m happy for that. The last few weeks have been fast and furious. Let them be softened by time and rainy days. 

May something good come of it all…. 

There were plenty of good things along the way to be sure!  

A few extra feet joined in my walk. They were a grand and welcome treat! One fuzzy life hopped away! Criss cross applesauce hands in my lap with some sweet tiny friends! The sharing of a lightbulb moment! A simple meal at the end of a long week! Being a part of the very first author event of someone so very dear to me!  

Prayer and poetry and peaceful moments…unopened books waiting for me…

The first pumpkin bread of the season warmed my kitchen from the inside out. The sweet scent of it drifted from room to room, a cozy reminder that autumn is truly and finally here. I shared it fresh from the oven. When I delivered the first loaf it was still warm in its shiny foil wrapper. Five loaves gone in two short days. I will happily bake more. It is a joy of the season for me! First to bake it. Then to give it away. Except the slices I taste test for quality control… 

But there was a hole I never could quite climb out of. No ladder. No rope. No foothold. 

Over the weekend we received some very much needed rain…

I found myself walking in the rain at dusk, such a perfect reflection of my thoughts. There’s nothing quite so nice at times as wandering the woods in a light rain. Pull my ponytail through a baseball cap and head out the door and down the trail…

The dogs will not go out in the rain on purpose…unless I do. If I go, they go. My constant companions stay closer when it rains, pausing every few steps to be sure. Looking back at me. Are we really doing this? Yes…we are. Keep going. Ok then. If you say so. 

What I can see of the sky is grayish white. It feels more like fog than sky, the way the clouds encircle me from every which way holding me tight to the ground. Tight to myself. Rain washes over the landscape painting all of the colors a darker shade of whatever they already are. Leaves and bark and flowers too…Everything takes in the life giving water… and changes.  

The lake stretches out before me. Open and waiting. Tiny circles dot the surface here and there…teardrops falling gently from the sky. The pond silently accepts them with no questions asked. Each one makes a difference. I gaze a while, watching the tiny droplets one by one become part of something so much bigger than themselves. Giving themselves away. Disappearing in the whole. 

We are at our best when we give ourselves away…

Deeper amidst the trees now Mozart thunders in my ear. He is a perfect complement to birds and light footsteps on a wet woodland path. The rain comes rhythmically like musical notes. From cloud to branch it falls like fingers on a keyboard composing a brilliant song! Drops that catch nearby are strong like drumbeats. They pound at the thirsty earth. While others never make it through the treetops remaining so faded and far away. They echo softly in reply to their own question.  

Then there are the closest drops, the ones that soak your clothes and glisten on your skin, the ones that chill you or refresh you, the ones you keep for your very own and make all the difference…those drops you cannot hear at all. They do not have a sound. They silently disappear. Perhaps they become part of you just as the ones that offer themselves to fill the lake.   

There is a gift in even the most trying times if I see with heart instead of eyes alone. Sometimes those gifts, the ones that come in the silent tears of the wind and rain, are the most precious ones after all.

Today is a new beginning, a very innocent one, fresh and full of promise. What secret destination awaits…

embers, ashes and a lovely place to swim

I was a little late leaving for my morning walk.  Just moving slowly I suppose. In my left hand swings a now familiar white bucket laden with bread. In my pocket is my phone. I wonder how many times I will pause to capture a photo of something precious or chuckle worthy. My ear buds are plugged in and draped around my neck.  What music will I choose to accompany my steps. I think that I am ready…

The cedar that leans too far because of storm and earth washing away is still easier to climb over than under. The creek is cold and wandering just as it is every time I wade through it.  The dogs are far ahead with excitement as they always are.  But me…
The closer I come to crossing the fence the more ill at ease I feel.  One leg over…then the other… thankfully nothing catches on the barbed wire this time, clothes or skin.  The field waits quietly for me as it always does.  But, in my center there is an uneasiness.  It doesn’t fade with my steps.  What will be waiting for me today?  And, I think to myself…this is not what joy feels like.  Even as I write this, the gnawing place returns so that I’m not certain if I want to continue…or turn around…and go back…

So many things just the same.  Others have changed.  Sorry, I’ve already jumped ahead of myself in this story.

The last few months have seen some new traffic in the place where I wander and wonder.  People, I mean.  A few have always come from time to time.   To fish or to walk.  I’m used to those and the signs of them.  All good.  I will change my course when I realize they are nearby.  After all, they come so seldom and I’m blessed with this space every day. They become enchanted for a while.  They remember how wonderful it is to be here and visit often.  Soon enough the busyness of life sneaks up on them. They go back to the noise and excitement of the worldly places, leaving this one, once again quiet and unpeopled.  

 I almost said empty.  These woods and fields are far from being empty.  They overflow with all manner of life!  The kind of life that is content to stroll or hop or fly or just be still.   Be still and gaze at the light winding its way through the branches and the leaves until it rests on the water in a shower of tiny stars. A faery dream…

The new traffic is quiet and there’s plenty of room of course, so even that is ok.  But, as of late they are building fires in the evenings.  Fire in a place that is not their own…and when it’s time for them to be somewhere else, they simply go…leaving behind an untended fire.   Sometimes the sparks escape the rocks that protectively surround them.  

So, that explains the bucket.  A few extra steps, a smidgen of water and the night’s leftovers are easily put to rest.  On the upside, it doubles as a lovely way to carry bread for feeding the fish and I feel a bit like a character in Little House on the Prairie. Where is my huge sun bonnet? I wonder if Dobby took it… 

Lately when I cross the fence each morning it isn’t with a peaceful heart.  Rather, there is an anxious wondering as to what awaits me.  What may have happened in the night to change things. 

Ugh, change… the never ending wonderful miserable constant in life…

Fire is frightening.  It can run away from you at lightening speed and you’re helpless before it. If you have ever witnessed a fire raging out of control or the charcoaled bits of life it leaves behind, you know how very tragic it can be. Unchecked it has the power to engulf and destroy.  Quickly!  There is nothing easy about fire.   It is both dangerous and mesmerizing. However it comes, as flames licking at the sky or as coals alive and pulsating with energy.  Red hot embers wait for their turn to rise up and take their place among the others.  

There is a hidden mystery in the heart of  Fire. It also has the power to heal.  A solitary gaze into its rich depths is a search for my own.  How many stories have been told while lazing around its edges. The gentle glow of it entrances us, keeping the teller and the listener tucked into a momentary but timeless embrace.  Within it burns the secrets of both togetherness and aloneness. 

When man learned what could be done with fire, his world changed forever! Suddenly, there was a place of great warmth.  A place to belong.  A place to share.  A means to alter food.  Cooking!  Before man harnessed fire there were no pastries with hot cups of tea alongside them, no baked potatoes with melted butter and cheese, no roasted chicken with herbs.  Did you notice how I put dessert first…just saying.  Fire holds many gifts.  We can warm ourselves through and through, body and soul.  

Bejo once told me that she had purposely burned 20 years worth of personal journals. I was stunned! Oh how fascinating I think it would be to read her thoughts!  As time passes, I think  I understand why my grandmother did what she did. They were her thoughts after all. She had every right to do what she wanted with them. One should listen to a friend or loved one while they have the chance. What they kept quietly to themselves is no more important than what they chose to share with you. I had the gift of her in life. What she chose to share with me is the part of her that she wanted me to have. I wonder if tossing them one by one into the flames was healing for her. Did it help her to let go of a past that left no room for the magnificence of the future? 

The Phoenix!  In Greek legend it is synonymous with the power fire has to transform!  It can both take life and restore it!  The  phoenix lives a tremendously long life until one day it simply bursts into flames and is consumed by the fire.  From the very remnants of that destruction, it rises in a brilliant new life.  Over and over again the fire takes away and then restores.   Out of the ashes of pain the phoenix always rises.  The stories of his heart are written in hot coals on the tips of his wings. The edges are singed with the sorrow and grief of the world…but, when he opens them wide and lets the air catch underneath them…he flies.  Soars to unimaginable heights on fresh new wings. Burning away the past. Clearing the way for a beauty as yet unknown.  Indeed, fire is a mysterious healer.

In every ending there is a beginning.  It may be hard to see.  It is so very small.  But it is there nevertheless.  Fire cools.  Ashes are blown hither and yon by the same invisible air that fanned them into flame a short time ago.  Now, there is a place for the tiniest seed to take hold.  

Whatever the seed is destined to become is already written in its heart.  Whether it will be a delicate flower or a towering tree – its roots will search the darkness for wisdom to grow strong while its blossoms and branches reach for the glorious skies.  It is never ending.  Earth to sky.   Fire to water.  Birth to death.   All so beautifully interwoven in one seamless life. 

My days and my walks have been altered. I have been fighting it…at least on the inside.  I didn’t want this change.  I didn’t ask for it…I don’t really like it.  Nevertheless, here it is.  

Now… I have begun walking to the south side of the lake every evening, across the top of the dam.  Water gushes from the overflow pipe just out of sight.   If I close my eyes, I imagine that I am on an exotic island and it is really the crashing thunder of a waterfall.  Occasionally at dusk my bald eagle trips in over the towering pines and dances with his reflection in the peaceful lake so far below.   He is an absolute joy to me!  One day I will write more of him…

The south field is different, as all things are.  Wading through knee high grasses with cows on my right, I reach the peak of this sweet hill.  My only reward is the only one I need…an endless sky all around me.  I am just high enough to be a part of it and no longer simply a watcher glued fast to the ground.  And the sunsets are so so everywhere!  Every color! Every inch! Every lone and brilliant note in a triumphant song!  To my left and to my right, in front and behind, above and even inside of me every last ray of light bounces in glorious splendor…

this is what joy feels like…

yes, much has changed because of others and their fire building adventures.  
One day the busyness of the world will call to these strangers.  Just as it has to the others before them.  They will answer.  And, stop coming here.  Until then, 

The ashes of life have blown aside leaving me with something sweet and new.  I am embarrassed to admit I had forgotten how much I love the south field and the expanse of sky that stretches out before me in glad welcome.  My constant companions swim more on the south side because there are fewer weeds to tangle them up.  Fewer weeds means fewer snakes! There aren’t so many hidey holes for them to tuck away in.  A supremely good thing.  The soft sand of the dam is just as nice a place to rest as the pier and it always has shade!

The very fire that I fight heals me if I will only let go.

 I read this week that healing takes time. It’s true. All good and proper healing does take time. I pray for that, the healing and the ability to wait gracefully until it arrives…

I find it strange how often I tend to ‘forget’ certain things.  Something always comes along to remind me. It’s never gentle either. The reminder is usually bold with flashing neon lights and a good hearty knock on the noggin.  I wonder how I could have forgotten something so simple… or even slept for that matter,  what with the incessant glaring and pounding headache…

I cannot make someone else care in the same way that I do…that…I must let go of.  

What I can do is…

Care for the little ones that fill my lovely world.  Let the fires of imagination burn bright with words.  Kindle the embers of my heart and let them glow from the inside out with love and compassion. Stay awhile to be a part of the sunset. 

Life is full of stories just waiting to be lived…and then to be shared…come sit with me around the fire and we’ll write a magnificent new one together…

in the shining and in the dark

No dreams last night, or at least none that I can recall. I’m a little antsy. Maybe about writing. Maybe something else. Walking in the rain. Trees that fall down. Clyde and Camellia. Creepy crawlers and all grown up. Growing up is when you learn to not run from what’s in front of you. I’m staring more than writing. Why is it always so hard to get started.  

Before dawn, still sleepy eyed I tiptoed out the back door. With bare feet I took the small step down off the back porch in search of the gentle silvery spotlight of the full moon. Sand gave way under my feet. It surprised me at how soft and cool it was. I dug my toes in just a little. Jack and Huckleberry joined me in honoring the hushed silence of the moment. The sweet moon gathered all round me in a lovely embrace. 

She was perfectly wonderful making her way through the trees…as though she was there…just for me. How funny that always seems. When something so universal feels so intimate. Far off, a solitary owl, his call echoing through the woods…to who…to who… and there I was too, as still as anything in the shining and in the dark, feeling…very solitary. 

I wonder, how many stood under the same moon at the same moment. did they wonder too. did they hear an owl hoot. did they feel special in an alone sort of way. a small part of something so much bigger than themselves. did they wish upon a star. did they hum a little tune.  

Or…was I after all…the only one standing in the light of the moon, looking to the stars for guidance and for hope. Saying a prayer for courage and for grace…

As we headed out on our morning walk the sun began rising behind me. Already he was warming the sand that had been so delightfully cool only moments before. My time worn path lay before me lit from within by a fiery glow. This way!  He called.  Ahead, the moon was still high in the sky.   But with every step I took… it faded just a little more. 

 She became transparent…and then…invisible…right before my eyes. what now? how will I know? My silvery rays of hope…The moon is still there in the sky. I trust that she is…even when I cannot see her… I know in my heart…she is there…always…

asterisks and missing pieces

her heart was rent, her center would not hold – Sarah Ban Breathnach

I have spent the second part of my life breaking the stones, drilling the walls, smashing the doors I placed between the light and myself in the first part of my life. – Octavio Paz

My Dad loves puzzles these days.  The ones made of cardboard that when all the pieces fit just so, it comes together to reveal a beautiful image.  

This morning I have kept the world at arms length.  My quiet side cried out for whispers of grace descending from the tree tops. To write.  To manage a whole thought at once rather than broken into crumbs spilled upon the counter.  They will never be whole again.  They’re fine as they are of course.  Crumbs add a lovely crunch to the top of a casserole.  Crumbs are a feast fit for the birds. The dogs will happily devour every single one of them and ask for more.

But crumbs do not give the beauty of a whole picture.  There is nothing well rounded and finished about them. They are only bits that are no longer part of the story.    

300, 500, 1,000 piece puzzles dumped onto a table look like a big pile of crumbs. But these are different. These have edges and corners. In time and with diligence they will fit together just right.  They will become what they were always meant to be, a lovely image.  For now though, they are a messy pile and where in the world does one begin?  

 I know the rules of the game.  Of course there are rules.  There are always rules, even when they’re unspoken ones.  Edges come first and foremost.  Define the parameters. Create the form. Then and only then can one begin  to get to the good stuff, the heart of the thing.  An image begins to emerge. Pieces begin to fit.  You See Something.  Excitement builds.  I got this.  One piece and then another. Until…

A snag. You’re closing in on completion but something’s missing.  Hopefully all the pieces are present and accounted for.  Hopefully nothing has fallen to the floor or gotten itself hidden somehow.  Yes, puzzle pieces do have the ability to move from place to place without your help.  Didn’t you know?  What follows is a frenzied and all out search.  It can’t be!  It Has to be here.  You’re on hands and knees combing every inch of the floor.  You revisit the empty box…for the fourth time, just to be sure.  

You fight the puzzle.  You fight yourself.  You’ve been looking too hard for too long.  You can no longer see.  

Walk away. Take a break. Give your eyes a rest   Let the puzzle wait.  It’s not going anywhere. Maybe it is…but that’s another story altogether, a fairy tale I think.  When you return the piece shows itself.  It was hidden amongst the others all along.  There in plain sight.  One has to let go to see.  It fits right into its place snug along the edges and hugging all the curves.  The puzzle is done.  The image is complete.  You stand back and admire the beauty of it with great satisfaction.  A momentary victory.  A small oohrah! 

Already your mind races forward. Hmmm. Do I leave it here? After all, it took me so much time.  I should enjoy my efforts for a while.  If I do that though, I won’t be able to use the table.  Hmmm.  I could glue it. Then I could admire it forever.  I’m not much for that though. I’d have to store it or frame it or who knows what else.  Hmmm.  There’s only one thing to be done.  Dismantle it.  Take it apart.  Tuck all the little pieces safely at home in their box.  Put it aside for another day or another person to enjoy.  The time of this puzzle has come and gone.  It lingered for awhile but now it’s time to let it go.  

I’m not much of a puzzle person to be honest. I’d rather be moving about or painting or…writing.  Words are my pieces and writing is my puzzle.  I love to gaze at the empty page. My pen is poised and  ready…when my thoughts catch up to me and the words come together just so.  Yes, yes, that one hugs the others perfectly.  Or, the inevitable scratch out… no, no, that’s not what I mean at all.  

I pause over the messy page not quite knowing where to go next. – I guess I should walk the dogs.  After all they’ve been staring at me for a good 20 minutes now, and wrestling with one another in doggy fashion beneath my feet.  We’ve been soooo good for soooo long.  Seriously.  Don’t you need a break? Aren’t we cute?  You should really stop what you’re doing for a while and play with us instead.  It’ll be good for you.  Promise.  They’re right of course.  They always are.  I let out a sigh of great exasperation at their infinite and all encompassing wisdom that I have to work so hard for.

Shoes on my feet.  Music to settle my soul.  Off we go then.  Trees above.  Dirt beneath.  My joyful four legged companions.  I walk and I wait. I wait for the right words to find me.  Always, they do.

Whenever I fight it, the puzzle, the words, the dailiness of life, it never works out then.  I waste myself spinning ever inwards tightening to a place so small that I cannot see the missing piece.  It waits patiently in plain sight.  It is in letting go that I gently circle forth again just as the graceful curves of a paper nautilus spiral outwards beautifully away from self. Only then does my vision clear enough to see what was right before me all along.

My Dad is the smartest man I’ve ever known.  He was never much of a puzzle person either, the cardboard variety.  But give him a real life problem and just watch his engineering brain take hold and keep on.  He wasn’t afraid to take anything apart in his thoughts or with his hands over and again until he had completely mastered the what and how and why of it.  Still, sometimes the solution evaded him.  Seemingly, he would let go of the whole dilemma.  His efforts turned to bread making or gardening.  Often he would wander through a well loved book, the old fashioned kind.  None of this e-reader stuff.  Dad read books that feel heavy in your hand as they carry you to another place and time. He kept a pencil near when he read so as to make his signature asterisk to mark the passages he found most meaningful.  Oh how I love to come across one of Dad’s asterisks, a hidden treasure to be sure.  

Suddenly the answer was there hovering just within reach of him and he’d go back to the problem now able to fill in the missing piece.  Done! Complete! Whole! 

And then, he put it away.  Dad knew better than to leave a “done puzzle” on the table to be stared at.  He knew when it was time to gather it up, put it back in its box, and pass it along.  He learned all the lessons the puzzle offered him, pondered every piece as he held it in his hands. He knew all too well that the blessing of the puzzle was in the journey of it, never in the preservation of it.  Time to let go to make room for the next one. 

Like me, Dad was never much interested in cardboard puzzles. He was far more fascinated by the ones of real life. But these days Dad works at the beautiful cardboard pieces with a quiet intensity.  He can just manage 100 pieces and even that takes time.  The daily puzzles of his life have changed.  They’ve become something different than they were before.  He no longer solves big things for many.  But, you should see his warm contented smile when he fits that final piece of the image right where it belongs.  And then just as easily, he lets the whole thing go.  The journey of one puzzle beautifully complete. The thrill of the next waiting just within reach…

I love you Dad

Nothing really…

What have you done today?

Nothing really

The day that wasn’t …

Well…

 I began with coffee in my favorite cup (the one you gave me) in the dark of the morning kitchen. The glow of a lamp while reading the words of one fairly gone from this world.

 I sent off some thoughts to here and to there. Most of them, probably delivered but unreturned. Except one who gracefully wishes me well even though I know she’d like to be in her own morning kitchen with her own cuppa. 

Here comes the day with music and sharing… laughter and sadness. My story of yellow.  I should really write that down. 

 I felt the threat of the thunder deep in my heart as my friends gathered closer up under my feet.  Safe from their fears of the crack in the sky. 

Simple food. Simple day. 

The gentle hum of football in the background. 

I walked in the forest still dripping with rain. Magically quietly clearing my cobwebs away.  Shiny leaves and tiny stirrings.  No one but me.  And my furry friends recovered from fear.  And the smallest toads crossing our path.  Hurry now.  Move fast.  

 I prayed. 

I cleaned and I froofed at this and at that. I even fed Fred the small tiny cat.

 I wandered my thoughts and wrote some of them down. The day that was yesterday. Trees that break down. 

 So many good writers with such grand things to say. I cried as I wondered why anyone would take time to care what’s in my heart. 

Just imagine – Steinbeck and Alcott and Miss Emily D writing and writing with no one to see. No social media. No immediacy. Would even they be overwhelmed and overlooked in an age such as this. But on they kept.  so I shall as well. Never to be them.  Only to be me.

At times I felt large enough. Other times small. 

A cookie. Another. And another…too many?  It’s all good.

I thanked God for the soft gray skies and a belly of rain. My lake will be filled! My fish will be happy! My morning glories will bloom! 

 Not mine. None of it mine. All His.

Whir of the fan. Soap bubbles at dusk.  Soon I’ll have pjs and pillows… and that’ll be grand.

 A word from afar.  A question from you.  my sweet sister.  And this my reply.  

What have I done today?  

Nothing really. 

Big moments?

Spring turns to summer in Texas! Really?  Are you sure? Because, I won’t fib, today mostly feels the same as yesterday.  Ellie rules the roost.  Period.  No ifs ands or buts.  Jack is going at his regular breakneck pace looking for our next big adventure.  And Bo rests his head in my lap trying desperately to be adorable so I’ll share my last bite of buttered toast.  He loves butter almost as much as cheetos.  Even Dobby is getting along splendidly.  He’s a very new story for another day.  Sigh.  How do they find me?  Nevertheless seasons change and my daily life changes with them.  There’s not much to see really.  If the calendar doesn’t remind  me that today is the day, how would I even know.  Most of us are so far removed from the natural world these days that the changing seasons don’t mean as much as they once did. The turning itself is something though. Spring is new!  We’ve waited and tended and worked.  New is upon us!  Spring is a time of flowers, Passover, Easter, and graduations of one kind and another.  We look to each of these as transformative moments.  None of them lasts very long.  But each asks us to reflect on what has been, to celebrate it, often to let it go.  Make way for what’s next.  

When someone graduates do you honor their hard work and  accomplishment or do you encourage them towards their dreams as they move forward.  Honestly, you probably do both.  Still, the celebrations and festivities we most associate with spring are at their core about profound transformation.  How fascinating to me that a single ceremony, a single calendar day can pass quietly before us and yet we are supposed to feel that somehow Now things are different.  I am no longer this.  Instead…I am this…new, different.  It’s an odd moment I think, and it takes me a while to catch up with the meaning of it.  Sometimes all we can do is move through it, letting it be what it is.  We instill such grand importance on what we deem to be the big things in life.  A festival has taken place.  Life is new!  Isn’t it?  

Towards the end of winter branches are bare and the world is rather gray.  Suddenly the air warms up a tad and there are a dozen shades of green everywhere you look. The flower bud closed so tight against the world one day changes its mind and opens its heart in blossom.  It’s true then I suppose that all things transform and renew in a moment that we may not even see.  We are not misguided in our hopes for the future, our dreams of the new.  But, we look too hard for the change itself.  We want to see it and know it.  We want to pencil it on a calendar with a date and time.  We will arrive early to get a good seat.  Our camera will be at hand to capture the perfect moment. The moment of change.  We’ll be there with bells on.  And we won’t miss anything.  

We expect too much from the big moment.  In the expecting we miss the beauty of what is real.  Those things that change us the most usually arrive without fanfare.  They can surprise us with either joy or sorrow and are almost never captured in a photograph.  They are the unseen flowers that dwell in your heart. There are plenty of things I keep track of by calendar so as not to forget them. Others are so much a part of me I couldn’t forget them if I tried. Those are my own anniversaries of the heart.  Mine alone.  There are more of them with each passing year.  My heart is tending a garden while I am otherwise occupied. 

 So, it’s rather fitting that as spring turns to summer there isn’t much to see.  In fact, I almost missed it.  Until, I headed out the door for a nice stretch of the legs.  I walk partially because my sweet but  energetic four legged companions demand it.  Into the woods.  Over the fallen log.  A joyful splash through the creek.  The sky open wide before me as I hit the field.  No ceremonies.  No festivals.  No expectations.  Just an unremarkable moment.  The wind whispers through the trees telling me the story of the spring and its passing away.  Clouds float overhead transforming as I watch.  Shifting effortlessly from one form to another easily letting go of the last one to make way for the next knowing it will be different…but wonderful nevertheless. 

 I reflect on what has been.  It’s the small things I recall.  Early morning feedings of a tiny new life.  Quietly starting wordpress on one of my own anniversaries of the heart.  Being humbled and surprised when someone takes time to read my thoughts.  Too many walks to count.  Waiting.  Simple adventures.  Pie!  Jack j juice box, as cute as a box of juice! Then like the seasons ask of me, I let go and turn forward to what summer may be.  Hopefully an abundance of morning glories.  Reading and writing amidst the daily necessities.  Certainly there will be sorrow too but I’ll take that as it comes, as gently as I can.  

As surely as there will be mosquitoes and poison ivy and very hot days, there will also be iced tea on the porch swing, lazy evenings listening to the frogs, and my annual reading of Anne Morrow Lindbergh. Tucked in among it all is a new anniversary of the heart waiting to be discovered. Perhaps I’ll know it when I see it. Probably not though. Moments like that are far more quiet than jack is when he begs to be noticed. When I’m not looking it will gently take root in the ever growing garden of my heart. And there it will be, waiting. One day it will flower before my eyes and I’ll wonder at the newness of it and how beautifully different everything is than it was just moments ago. 

Waiting for the Bus

What’s a bus? I’m really good at this waiting thing, aren’t I?

Can I sit in your lap while we wait?

If you don’t have any cheetos, do you at least have some bacon?

I’d really like to get home to my nice soft sofa, just so you know.

Bo is the waitingest dog I ever did see. No matter where we are, if I stop, then he sits to wait…  If I told him, now sit right here while we wait for the bus Bo, I swanee he would say –  well, ok.  Do you have any cheetos? It’d be swell if you had some.  Cause I’d really love some cheetos while I wait for this bus thing.  But, if you don’t have any that’s ok too.  I can wait til we get home.  I bet there’s cheetos at home.  Cheetos sure do sound good about now.  Say, have you got any cheetos?  When’s that bus gonna get here? – Just so you know, Bo has a slow drawl when he talks.