Riverly resting along…..

I lay awake and watch the stars dip low and call me out onto the porch
where I lay down my resolve to sleep
so early that the moon hides still behind the house,
the bright quiet of her shine
crisping the only edges of the yard and dusting the treetops with silver.
I wish for poetry but feel only dull;
the tired of me can’t rise to dance in the beauty rolled out here.

Until I lean the tiniest lean – just a slight nod of spirit
into the hush-away from all my questions humming.
Shhhhhhh – rest here now for just this breath.
Rest.  here.  now.
And as I breathe and then breathe again,
click goes my heart and open it swings
to this ordinary moment,
showing up like a weary traveler
to the unremarkable slice of time happening just exactly now.
The present.

I wonder how many friendly welcomes I’ve rushed on by,
feeling like a stranger in an even stranger place
just because I’m clinging stubborn to the season passed,
the one I’ve known and loved.

Breathing here,  now,  feels truer.
I can feel the changes work the rough edges of me over until I smooth
to the road that I’m on
and so the travel goes lighter.

And if I go quiet enough I can hear her,
river flowing~flowing~flowing
singing love that rolls over fallen things
and quick around stones that won’t be moved
and when they clash she sounds like music
and it lifts me,  too,
above my broken down ways
until I’m riding a new rhythm
into the living I’ve yet to do.

“I think there ought to be a little music here:
hum,  hum.”
– Mary Oliver

From the loving tree…..

Morning breaks through branches scratching words across the sky
and I draw back sometimes like a stranger to love
because I’ve taken on some lies
that sting and shame
and so I look down
and miss the affectionate twinkle
in the only eyes who get to tell me who I am.

But when I listen for the truth,
close my eyes and listen low,
there comes the soft storm of a sound like drumming,
the sweet strong thunder of a river humming,
breaking off the shame and home to me coming
back to the true of my heart.

And I remember it fresh – don’t eat from the tree
made of eyes that can never see or know me.

And so again I am breaking up with shame
as the wind rustles valentines from God.

“Distrust shame.
Even when you don’t fit.”
– Mandy Bird

In the awkward stage of practicing new skills over here –
taking a personal challenge to learn to say what I mean without so many words
and this is a fearful thing
because I don’t want to be misunderstood.
It’s my nature,  instead,  to explain.
To use lots of paint to try and say it clear:)
Having an awkward go
and grateful if what I write down
meets you where you are.
With love:)

To leave behind a well-worn life…..

I want to live my life – the whole messy thing –
live all the in-betweens and almosts and dark corners.
To live even when I’m spooked and my living starts to freeze up,
when I’d rather go sleepy
or let a blue day swallow me down.

I want to live above the ground for all of my days
until my body is done,
to recognize quick those moments when I opt out,
when busyness makes a racket and I can’t hear the un-lived moments
float silent down like the ash of a cigarette left burning,
the soft stink of something left to die.

I want my life to smell well used and air-dried and open-windowed,
never dank like a room shut up and left
until someone comes back to find it
later.

I want to live all the way alive,
 each morning early when I pull myself from pillow
and live for real the whole of the day until I sleep,
to leave a well-used life still warm and speaking
like a blossom,
like a mountain,
like a shriek.

“A storm was coming but that’s not what she felt.
It was adventure in the wind
and it shivered down her spine.”
– Atticus

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.