Tag: hope

Simply Sunday

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Handwritten

One simple sentence
written in Mom’s
handwriting inside the
cover of a photo album

The exact date eludes me

Kelley saw her first rainbow today.

This morning’s beautiful
rainbow plucked the image
of those handwritten words
from my memory bank,
and placed it in my hands

Stopped at a stoplight
I rolled down my window
breathing in fresh air
taking in the bright colors

Resisting the urge to yell
at the drivers on either side
Hey! Look!
Do you see the rainbow?

Light turned green
and green means go

I smiled, grateful Mom
took time to note the
first time I noticed
a rainbow

Broken White Lines

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Walking a straight
line is a myth

A truth which grows
ever more apparent
as I approach sixty

Life is never so simple
Even the white lines
guiding us down the
road are broken

Solidifying only when
extra caution is required

It is tempting
to wear blinders
Attempt a straight
line to my destination

But there is so much I would miss

The rose-pink glow
bathing this very morning
in brilliant warmth

The crisp air
on my face as I
lower the window

Smiling as I snap
a quick photo of the
rosy pink sky-twice

Wishing I could
watch it fade away
before driving on

Driving on anyway
In awe of the sweet
warmth at my back

Relieved my path
is not a straight line
It never has been

Simply Sunday

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Tenacious Tree

Your foliage
struggles in
the summer heat

Not the most
beautiful tree
in the garden

Patches of brown
overtake your
remaining green

Yet, you gently call.
And I intently listen
You surely have much to say

Branches twisted,
pointing in all directions
Signs of enduring courage

If I sat at your feet
for only a day
I would surely be changed

Clovis Botanical Gardens, Clovis, CA

Simply Sunday

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Limits

How do I know them
without testing
How do I test
without facing fears

Once set, how do I
accept and maintain
Or know when it’s time
to test them again

Questions resurfacing
during recent scenic,
but harrowing drives

Past experiences in cars
suddenly out of control
inducing present fears

My desire to stand under
the wisdom of giant trees
tugging at my soul

A fear my body remembers
fighting with an experience
my heart strongly desires

A work in progress
Accepting my limits
Not giving them control

Forever treasuring the
feeling of walking through
a grove of Giant Sequoias

Mariposa Grove, Yosemite National Park

Falling

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A fear of falling
Something I understand
and consider more often
the older I become

The same fear that
sneaks in as I push my
granddaughter on the swings
“Higher, Gigi, Higher!”

But falling is also
something to be
chased after
To experience

Falling in love
That one I understand
Fear may try to creep in
but it doesn’t win out

I wish I could think
of falling more in
terms of a waterfall
A sense of letting go

A freefall releasing
the weight of fear that
sometimes freezes,
only to thaw in an instant

Releasing my true self
as you watch, cheering
me on-reaching out
your hand when I do fall

Helping me back up or
lying down next to me
on the ground, until
I’m ready to try again

Simply Sunday

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Purple Blanket

You stood in the
tall green grass
Its blades almost
above your head

I wasn’t sure if
I’d see you again
in light of current
proposals for change

Changes in the name
of progress, of course
Giving little consideration
to your fragile forest home

Your mom stands steady
near the tree line’s edge
Her gaze fixed on you as
your head tilts and ears perk

She is still and quiet
while you explore
Always curious about the
world outside of your own

And I watch, grateful to see
you, Doe and Fawn, securely
wrapped in the soft, pale
purple blanket of morning

Simply Sunday

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Butterfly

Some would say her
emergence mirrors
our beginnings

Damp wings gently
fluttering to dry
before taking flight

But I would argue her
flight more closely
mirrors our ending

For she has already
journeyed from leaf to
twig, across blades of grass

Over terrain, smooth and
rough, picking up bits
of life all along the way

Eventually wrapping
herself in so many layers
no room remains for living

Only room for reflection-
Like that required for
our final transformation

Leaving behind the shell
that faithfully held us
to the end of our journey

When our spirit, like the
newly flown butterfly,
experiences true freedom

Until it was Time

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Nobody told me
how much I would miss you
Maybe they assumed I knew
Common sense and all

But common sense is not
the same as preparation
And missing you is something
I couldn’t prepare for anyway

I suppose they were
trying to do me a favor
A way to enjoy time with
no thoughts of finality

If I even believe in time

Truth is, I already knew
No warning needed
I knew, just kept the
knowing buried deep

Buried deep
until it was time
to remember both
the happy and the sad

Simply Sunday

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TRY AGAIN

The drought spreads
dry, dusty air
into my lungs

Seeps under my skin
Hardens my heart
Oppresses my soul

I search for
A sip of water
A drop of rain

Any semblance of relief
I know it exists

That kind of help
already at work
before you even
know it is needed

A light breeze
carrying a cloud
A heavy cloud
releasing the rain

I try to sing
but the words
get caught
in the back
of my throat

You quietly whisper
I am here. Try again

One note carries another
and soon, a melody emerges
from a time long gone-
Restoring body, heart, mind, and soul

“He hides my soul in the cleft of the rock that shadows a dry, thirsty land.” Fanny Crosby

The Daffodil and Me

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Buried deep in the earth
surrounded by fertile soil
a cycle of moisture
and warmth from
an unseen source above

Encouraging the tiniest of stretches

Baby roots begin
to reach while
grounded- In chorus,
ready to follow
an unknown path

The hard work of
seed to sprout-
The patience of
bud to flower
while weathering storms

Until the sun affectionately
lifts her lovely face
toward the sky
begging the question

What comes next?

This poem is from my collection The Space Between Clouds.