blossom song…

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There’s a river of glad in these petals,
deep veins of song,
and I’m rich because of their music,
how they swirl their poetry generous over my eyes
till my spirit is humming along

about how sweet the way of seasons,
of sunshine and shadow,
and their joy invites me lean in close
and listen to their lasts,
like wise ones so full of living,  at the end,
who murmer grateful about how faithful the love
that kept them,

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how wasteful the rush,
how needless the worry,
how glad for even the hard wind blowing
that gave them their chutzpa
and stirred their muchness bright,
their colors twirling praise
for the grace that walks them home

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and as their song trickles down peace,
I catch a glimpse of the old woman of me,
many years from now,
her seasoned eyes shining with the memory
of my still-to-come,
humming that it had been good to be,
that there had been nothing to fear,
God had had this all along,

and this journey,  every second of it mine,
not to strive,
but to enjoy.

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This post is available in my etsy shop (on the sidebar),
poured out in art
on prints bound with simple twine
to gift or display.
There are several there now to choose from
(and a batch in the oven- so. much. fun)

I drew two names from the pot
for the giveaway
(huge thanks for all of those wonderful suggestions
~holding them close to heart and marinating)

it’s joy to send a bundle to
Kathy of Paper Pumpkin
and
Lee Ann of Encouragement is Contageous

Big thanks for the kindness and  support.
With all my heart I love you all.

once upon a winter….

 

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I’ve been walking around in the woods.
A  lot.
Just tramping across the land on trails
because I can
and my heart is calling me.

My wintertime projects wonder what’s up with me,
where I go each day
and why I leave them unattended,
especially since I prattled on all year
about how much I couldn’t wait to hug their necks
once the hours turned gentle.

The walls still waiting for their fresh paint,
especially the ones I promised to un-paint,
seem to greet me with their hands on their hips
each time I burst through the door
with pink cheeks and dirty boots,
the dogs lapping water noisily and trailing dried grass and mud.

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I get it.
They’re in a funk over being neglected.
But  I lop off some sweet orange branches blooming crazy early
and set them around in mason jars
and how perfect is that?
And the blackbird feathers I’m clutching in my hand
I tuck into a pretty ceramic pot
and isn’t that just glorious?

And I need just a little while longer to work it out with my guitar
what I heard the wind whispering
and how warm the sun felt on my face
and how the water was going in every sort of burble and shoosh
you can imagine out there
and how I’m punch drunk in love with the wildness of it all.

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And it tickles like jazz to sit down and journal out my heart
on the one little bell I make at each day’s end,
just one sweet bite
with little room for words
and I did paint a bouquet of sticks one day
when an ice storm shut me in.
Yes, the walls still wait for their miracles
and the bathrooms and floors
and I’ll need to sleep with a heating pad again tonight

But can I tell you
that never has a winter ever
held more magic for me
and I’m holding it dear
like a snowflake in my hand.

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“We have only this moment,
sparkling like a star in our hand
-and melting like a snowflake.”
-Marie B. Ray