Late morning writing time…now just need to open up the journal a few more pages in. My writing inspiration this morning combines the summer sun, tea, a well worn journal and beyond these things lies gardens of flowers and a rugged mountainside. More gardening work awaits of course; it is ongoing throughout the summer. But moments need to be put aside to writing and that is not always easy to do. I do admit that. And as my tea tag above says, “be yourself” sits in the beginning of my journal, I aspire to that. For inside these written pages dating back to 2008, filled with thoughts, quotes, unedited poems, drawings…all allowing me to just…be myself.
Peonies from the garden on the Ridge. The deep pink ones? Oh what a history they have! They are over 55 years old and originated from my mother’s garden back in my childhood yard in Cold Spring, NY. They were dug up in 1976 when my parents sold the house and replanted at our home in Fayetteville, NC until June 1978 when a PCS to Germany had us selling our home there. No way was I going to leave my childhood peonies in NC. They were dug up and replanted in my mother- in-law’s garden in Hackettstown, NJ. In 2007, my mother-in-law dug up and carried one peony plant on the plane to plant on my garden here in Palmer Lake. A few years ago, it was necessary to sell her home. And again, no way was I going to leave my mother’s peonies in NJ! Yes, I dug up a bunch of them and transplanted them here next to the lone peony that just grew and grew. It was a good thing because a visit to the NJ house two years ago showed all my mother- in-law’s gardens gone- including my mother’s 35 year old huge peony hedge. The legacy of my mother’s peonies from NY to NC to NJ to CO have traveled and survived. Gratitude and blessings? Numerous! Yes, it is quite a story. And Mom lives on in each bloom of hers…I cherish this legacy.
The dawn moon quiets my mysterious wonder
into a deep palette of soft watercolors. Continue reading
Early winter has descended upon us in Colorado. A November blizzard and more since then has brought us into a season of quiet and white sooner than expected. In a world outside of quiet snowfalls, it is joyful to walk among summer and autumn that once was.
The wood stove fire burns slowly,
warmth seeps into ridges of a red fleece blanket
that adorns my shivering shoulders.
Outside the snow softly falls,
swirls of silver and white cover
autumn into bare branched silence.
North winds howl,
white tailed deer scrape snow on their tongues
on a late afternoon in early winter.
Caught in high country silence,
I sit and wonder, will we ever dance together again,
one more time to embrace
the soft rustlings of our mountain love.
The late afternoon begins to dim;
Night fall trails and gives way to the gray violet of snowy dusk.
I listen for your voice to echo down the high country ridge;
a gesture of your long awaited return home.
Outside the mountain settles into an early winter,
the deer and I wait for December snows to end,
and the passes to clear,
to welcome the pale glimmer of morning.
A very special poem from my poetry collection Journey On: Beauty And Grit Along the Way. It was one of those poems that came to me so easily…I love when writing a poem can actually be almost effortless. This one was:
You found me alone,
yearning for the summer’s moon
and encircled me like a wraparound porch.
Drawing me close, you took my pain and fears
and welcomed them in.
You came and stayed in my heart
giving love with yours.
You are gone, but your love remains,
like the remnant of an old soft blue sweater
hung nearby on a peg by the back door,
waiting for the wearer to return home.
Skies of denim blue
nudged by the sea’s wind
remind us to leave behind
heartache and hurdle.
I take your laughter
and weave it with mine
as the sun warms our backs.