Fraying times and faded jeans…..

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I’ve got some unmet hunger for vacation
and no windows in this wall of work to climb through and feed it
so I sent my imagination on a relief mission
and it returned with a smell plucked right from a sweet spot in my childhood
….the smell of old weathered rope
creaking friendly beneath the tall tree standing regal in my back yard,
as I swooped skyward on a tire that scooped me weightless toward the sun

and as the windy breath of tireswing brushes over me fresh
again I’m swinging high,  toes poking clouds,
swept up playful,
slicing through sunlight toward treetops,
breezing through heaviness, dancing on air,
tummy squeezing happy with lift.

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And while my car’s still stuck in traffic and my list is smudged and long,
I’m caught up again in the song of that rope hugging sturdy some branch high above,
the worn bristle of it’s friendly grip hugged joyful in my hands
and somehow I’m feeling it again,  the finished chores and school’s out
and kicking off shoes that pinched and cutting short my faded jeans
to keep wearing all summer long until they’re fringed and frayed and yummy
and who knows what these fraying days
are doing to this heart of mine
…could be the good stuff of old jeans fading soft and friendly in the hard tumble of time.

I send you songs of freedom swinging you high,
of breeze and whoosh and swoop and glide,
swooping and soaring on willowy wings
swept up and away from heavy things.

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 “So won’t you fly high,  freebird.”
-Leonard Skynard

An unlikely symphony…..

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I’ve been unpacking a jar-full of goodness from the year gone by,
scraps of life scribbled down fast
and plunked in grateful
for sweet spots in swirling river time
as she swept along swift and sometimes surly

and I knew there’d be some drifting treasure to unwrap,
some awfully nice bits wedged into the rocks that scraped and pummeled
but I was swept up by the wholly different finished puzzle
of a year gone by
than the one I saw in the sting of hard and tumble.

Like a candid photograph that whispers grace
I see swells of love and aliveness
in moments that met me just exactly where I was willing to watch,
supply showing up in utter need and the simple beauty of working it out,
plenty of stuff springing up goodness in spite of myself;

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 that this turned out yummy and that thing turned balmy
(and who’d have expected?)
how sometimes life’s surprises grow sweeter than they first seem
and delight can grow in odd and unexpected places,
all these bits of broken thanks shaken from my jar
craft together a picture of unshakable love and care,
an unlikely symphony

It feels like buried treasure,  these bits of recycled year
and I’d planned to toss them into the fire
but don’t want to now,
they’re not for burning,  these;
I want to compost them  into the soil of what I believe
and let these stories tell themselves awhile longer,
crooning their songs sweet and low
into my listening hope.

It’s crazy-hope I’m growing;
I can feel it gaining weight:)

 

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“Life is sacred art.”
-Gabrielle Roth

Congratulations to Susie Troccolo
of Life,  Change,  Compost
(where she hangs her beautiful hat)
on winning the drawing for my January issue zine,  Ripplesongs.
Love and cheers to you,  Susie:)