Simply Sunday

Colors of Fall
Were slow
To appear
On certain trees
Dry conditions
Threatened
To hinder
The beauty
Of the season
But the leaves
Clung tightly
Waiting for
Rain to come
It was a cold rain
That fashioned
These delayed
Bursts of color
Just as others were
Beginning to wane
Yet even the faded
Appeared vibrant
Standing beside
The evergreens
Against the gray
And white backdrop
Painted on recent skies-
Everything in its time
Not competing
But complementing
In my not yet
Ready for Winter
Surroundings

Passerby

The deer had been
Absent from
Their usual field
Concerning
Colder weather
Blustery winds
They couldn’t
Have gone far
Wait! What was that?
There they are
Walking a path
Through the brush
To nearby water
I suppose it was there all along

A hidden path
Grass pressed down
Between the rows
Where others walked
In seasons past
Imprints remain
Though kept
Out of view
Until a concerned
Passerby needed
Reassurance
She was headed
The right direction

Collage

What makes a year?
Logic says
Seconds, minutes, hours
Days, weeks, months
Equally spaced
To help us keep track-
Of what, I’m not sure
Oh, there’s no denying
The answer when
My birth year
Is subtracted
From the current year
But the larger
That number grows
The less it represents
Anything equally spaced
What makes a year?
My heart says
The love of others
The beauty of nature
Grief, heartache, and loss
Faith, hope, and love
None of which
Fit into any calendar
All of which
Even the torn edges
Can be transformed
Into a much-cherished
Collage of memories

Simply Sunday

The Quiet

It’s too quiet
Something my mom
Used to say after
Our holiday visits
Well, actually
After any visit
Once their nest
Was empty
And although
Our nest is
Not quite empty
I’m beginning
To understand
The sentiment
A flurry of activity
The aroma of food
Being prepared
But mostly, the voices-
Once they return
To their own homes
The quiet leaves space
For melancholy
And missing
But mostly, the quiet
Leaves space
For memories
And a grateful heart

Happy Thanksgiving

A day filled
With family
Young and old
Enjoying
Tasty food
Prepared by
Ones I love
Ones who
Love me
Precious
Minutes
To watch
And listen
Smile and
Wonder-
Full heart
Calm mind
Tired body
Ready to rest
In the peace
Left behind by
Thanksgiving

Not all of our family could be with us today. And though we missed them, it was a wonderful time filled with reasons to be grateful. The house was full of laughter, stories, and heart-to-hearts. My husband, Gart, worked hard to make it a great day. He is quite the chef! And I am a lucky girl! ❤

Casting Cares

Once and for all
Never to be
Thought of again
Is that what it means to cast all my cares?
As I read the words
They make sense
But one turn around
And my worries seem
To find their way back
What if I picture myself
Fishing pole in hand
Standing at the edge
Of a clear mountain lake
Knowing, once I cast
My line out into the water
The only thing left to do is wait
Knowing that the waiting
Can be done with patience
Enjoying surrounding beauty
In excited anticipation
Of what may come
Or wasting sacred moments
Pacing back and forth
As if I have any control
Over how those fish
Swimming below the surface
Will respond or react-
Maybe the secret
Is in the accepting-
He cares about each worry
No matter how big or small

..casting all your anxieties on him because he cares for you. I Peter 5:7

Thanksgiving Week

What a perfect beginning to this Thanksgiving week-a writing circle hosted by Ali Grimshaw. https://flashlightbatteries.blog/. I was reminded once again of the importance of gratitude. Happy Monday! ❤

Giving and Receiving

What have I given of myself today?
Was it more
Than a thought
Or a simple prayer
Did my focus
Remain inward
Or did I take time
To see you coming
Slowly walking
In my direction
Wondering how
I might respond
Or if I would
Offer a smile-
Fairly certain
I received one
For it left a hint
Of happiness
As you passed by
More precious
Than any present
I could have received
What have I given of myself today?

Hold My Hand

Our hands reveal
So much about
The lives we live
My dad’s hands
Are rough and strong
Calloused from years
Of carpentry
My mom’s hands
Are softer
Her work required
A different touch
And yet, time
Is reflected in both-
I notice changes
In my own hands
Spots on my skin
Aches in my fingers
While thinking about
Hands I have held
Some briefly
Others lingering-
But then you
Held my hand
A lasting touch
That began at
The tips of my fingers
And worked its way
Into the depths of my heart

When I Grow Up

The question
We always ask
Our children
What do you
Want to be
When you
Grow up?

It’s funny
I seem to be
Answering
That question
For myself
These days-
When I grow up
I want to hold
Your tiny hand
Watch your breath
Rise and fall
In the smallest
Of motions
Hear your cries
Comfort your fears
Feel the complete joy
Only found
In the heaviness
Of rocking
Back and forth
In our favorite chair
Reading our favorite stories
Singing our favorite songs
My heart younger
As yours grows stronger

Simply Sunday

Little Hands

My job was to stir
Sounds simple
A wooden spoon
Round and round
But I remember
Heat rising from
The slow-to-boil
Sweetness
My dad was always
Nearby, of course
In case little hands
Became tired
It only took
Helping one time
For the tasty
Result to be
Permanently
Etched in my soul-
How is it that
Precious details
Are so easily
Forgotten-

Eating the remaining
Warm chocolaty filling
Out of tiny glass bowls
Once my dad filled
His homemade pie crusts-
May my memory
Of a yesterday
Erase any complaints
From today

Hello Stranger

I saw you
Ten years
From now
Or maybe
It was fifteen
My perception
Of time seems
To be changing
With its passing
In any case
It certainly could
Have been you
Or at least
The future you
I sometimes imagine…
Faded jeans
Plaid shirt
White hair
Just a little
On the sides
Perhaps a little shorter
We do eventually
Start shrinking

Purposefully walking
Into a local
Coffee shop
I smiled but refrained
From saying hello
Wonder if he’s picking up a London Fog just for me?