Funny that way….

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I won’t say it again this week,
more about being work-weary and worn and smelling of Ben Gay
and how my knees pop and crackle
because it’s October
and,  well,  our busy season is hard that way.

I’ll tell you instead how vivid turquoise the sky over me can be
and how the drape and arch of twigs and vines
can make my heart go all swimmy and glad
and I don’t even try to  figure that out anymore.
I’ll share how a blaze of sunlight wrapped in cloud
can glitter flecks of plum and raspberry and tangerine
and how noisy grackles in the treetops make it sound as if
the woods find something hilarious
and it’s pretty much impossible not to  laugh along.

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I’ll tell you  that I’m thinking how grateful I am for fields
wearing their Autumn swish and rustle,
all rich and loamy and raining seeds for next year’s wild blooms
and for the pumpkins everywhere,
each bright orange globe a shot of courage
for the grey and cold to come,
and for the way the light goes golder
and the shadows more purple
and memories somehow more vivid

and how there is  treasure
in what the sky speaks,
and the wind whispers,
and how the trees will hug you back

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and how gentleness is strength
and the way the earth flings up ebullient praise to her maker
and you can hear it if you listen
and I  get to be a part of that,
my own marks in the dirt as valuable as
the bells crying out in grand cathedrals

and I suppose that makes me a pretty rich woman
which is not something you’d likely guess
if you saw me rambling down some backroad in my dirty truck
with my windows rolled down and the music cranked up high.
Oh,  you’d think maybe that I’m happy enough
because of the singing
but rich?
I doubt anyone would guess that with a look.
Life is funny that way

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“…and in the morning when I rise
you bring a tear of joy to my eyes and tell me
everything is gonna be alright.”
-Kenny Loggins

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