55

 

Photo by Ray Bilcliff

Looking out through the rain drizzled window in March

I see April approaching with my birthday in tow.

55

Over half a century, fifty years since I was in kindergarten,

thankful that I am past the decades of awkwardness and

not being comfortable in my own skin.

Thankful that I am past the years of searching.

I am capable and competent, comfortable in who and what I am, 

confident with where I am.

55

I am.

I have arrived.

Every moment is lived in peace and to its fullness with acceptance.

55

No dreams have I, but I greet the the future with curiosity

and excitement. Yes, there are goals.

Practicality requires that I meet goals to tend to my needs

for who will care for me in my years to come?

An ageless spirit necessitates seeking experiences

-moments-

with family, friends, the forests of Oregon,

my cats, myself, my imagination.

55

I welcome it with open arms!

I am old and I am young.

I am the middle child of Longevity.

I am alive.  I have conquered

myself.

(Originally published 2024/03/31 at 5:52 pm)

Gratitude

 

Photo by Kampus Production: https://www.pexels.comom

Joy robbed her of melancholy
and robbed her of words.

The novel stalled,
the blog posts stopped.

In this season of gratitude she had abundance.

Without loss,
the page remained blank.

She did not want to pick at the old wounds.

Love extinguished pain.

“I have all that I need and I have no wants.”

“He’s changed, I’ve changed, we’ve changed together.”

There is peace,
there is love,
there is joy.

There is a future together.
“‘Til death do us part.”

And they remained that way.

Not ‘The end.’
The beginning.

Blessings to all this Thanksgiving.

(Originally published 2022/11/13 at 12:23 pm)

Love

 

Silver Falls, Oregon – Photo credit: Lisa Barker

Love like dappled light
intermittently blinds then clarifies
as my heart drives the back roads of my mind.

I don’t remember the pain, but
briefly it surprises me with bursts of sunlight that
quickly vanish into shades of clarity.

I follow the road with confidence, knowing well
the curves that wind deeper into dense, lush forests of noble fir.

A new stretch of certainty emerges and
I coast through the present road conditions
with eyes wide open.

When the road unwinds through quiet, tawny pastures,
the sun sets in my rear view mirror and twilight greets me;
the stars guide my way
reflecting the illumination of my intuition and
the draft of wind through the open window
catches my breath.

(Originally published 2022/08/03 at 1:06 am)

Safe Haven

 

Photo by C. Cagnin from Pexels

Warm floorboards drenched by midday sun, 
swept clean, 
the tidy broom in the corner

Yellow is the room - 
the walls, the glow, the aura

There stands a bare table, aged 
and worn smooth 
with a sensible chair to keep it company in its elder years

I shall place my typewriter there
I shall click and clack and breathe in ink and electrical warmth

Stories will flow, 
characters will fill the room; 
heartbreak and heartache will be the tune 
as main and minor characters dance to a healing finale

This room, my soul, will protect them and nurture their transformation

Amen

(Originally published 2022/04/12 at 9:18 pm)

I Am

 

Photo by Felix Mittermeir on Pexels.com

Ten months of clear skies
and steady, warm sun.

Lightning strikes suddenly, unexpectedly.
Thunder recalls previous storms.

A summer storm? A clearing of air?
Or the revelation of a storm that has
never passed?

Duck and cover.
Listen within.
Remember the plan, the proof of who I Am.

The storm may come; I will stand tall.
Lightning may break my boughs; I will grow new limbs.

An oak tall and strong.
Ever green.
Eternal.
Rooted.
Reaching into the sky, stretching beyond.

Sunshine nurtures.
Rain sustains.
Lightning illuminates.
Thunder echoes my soul’s song.

I am, I will.

I Am.

(Originally published 2022/03/25 at 11:42 pm)

Visitation

Photo by Tatiana Syrikova

In a rainbow haze she arrives. 

She is fussy and spoiled and I am overjoyed.

Random moments, unrelated, gel together making sense.

Her diaper is dirty.

I’ll buy her this dress for Christmas.

Spongebob, cats, carnitas…

At once I remember her favorites.

She laughs: “Hey-yeah!”

and I smile again.

She naps, then wanders from her toddler bed to find me.

I hold her.

Gently, I place her back in her bed.

And I lie down.

At dawn my eyes pierce the brightening day, searching. Yet, she is a fading wisp.

Where has she gone?!

I panic.

I remember.

I ache.

(Originally published 2021/05/31 at 7:06 pm)

Still I Stand

 

Photo by Oleg Magni

I forgave. Everything.
I thought I expected nothing in return.
But acceptance and respect I have never received.
The dismissing, the mocking, the insults remain.
These things you feel I deserve.
I am not a joke.
I am a human being, that forgave as I once had been forgiven.
My decision has been made. You speak as if we will continue on.
What you said to me a year ago, and have never apologized for--as if you could--remains foremost in my mind while I consider. I am more than the list of your grievances and criticisms and insults.
I am.

(Originally published 2021/01/07 at 10:38 am)

Untitled

 

Photo by Damian Apanasowicz

Rows apart,
hearts grow closer.

Friendship sprouts beneath a new dawn.
All a sign of spring.

A harsh winter ended.
Death chilled the earth, the harvest long ago.

Soil tilled, gently unexpected but welcome,
new life has arrived.

What will grow is unknown.
It is new and undiscovered.

Between us the breeze whispers softly.
Can you not see and hear?

Yes, the weeds will come.
Have faith! The Gardener will pluck them!

Let the soil not be packed with expectation!
Loose the need to control what Nature sows.

Rows apart friendship grows from the seed.
This is all we need.

(Originally published 2021/01/04 at 7:03 am)

18 Years

Photo by Pixabay

You,
arrived to a new country,
new culture,
without family,
without friends,
only me to greet you,
welcome you,
create a home.

Me,
struggling with depression
and mania.

Passion,
the glue that bound us.

Never doubt.
Don't Dream It's Over.

We,
raising two exceptional daughters,
a manic-depressive son,
a daughter that died,
a son that would struggle.

Her death.
My clinical depression.
Your isolation and loneliness.

The pressure broke us.

She saved you.

You came back.

Years of painful healing,
incrementally building,
growing,
learning to accept
and love
each other as we are.

The 18th anniversary.

I still love you.

(Originally published 2018/09/23 at 10:54 am)