We try and try to Measure our lives Days, weeks, months, years The number of seasons We travel can never Accurately measure Our existence What matters most Is often invisible Harder to quantify- The full impact realized, After physical days Have long passed If only our hearts Could be weighed An appraisal revealing The constant flow Of life-giving air Transformed into Actions of love- Actions of love Breathing Life-giving air- Leaving the heart full But never heavy Always overflowing Impossible to measure
I suppose there is something about being in quarantine that makes me think more about time. Particularly being quarantined as a new year begins. But it is ok. As my Mom recently said, “Looking forward to better days!” 🙂 ❤
The mountain comes into view, As I drive across the river bridge. A drive I’d love to take today. To me, a majestic outline, though Small in comparison to other mountains Barely high enough to garner the name
Hiking to its peak as a child was Like standing on top of the world Peering out over tops of trees Roads, cars, and houses below Appearing as toys in a tiny Land of make-believe
Was home really as small as it appeared?
Time for exploring always Ended too quickly-never enough Time to stand on the edge. But laughter followed as we Made our way down the steep trail Into the green valley below
The world again at eye-level My head forever in the clouds
Rain fell all night long. Very little ebb and flow A steady downpour Almost angry at times Or maybe that was me. Awakened once again From restless sleep Thinking how the rain Must be trying to Wash away the year Ridding the landscape Of any remaining Seeds of hatred Before they can Take root in the soil. Or perhaps the rain is Offering to carry away The sorrows of the year At least for a moment A comforting thought As I finally decide to Give up on sleep And listen closely Its anger seems to Have disappeared Mine as well Ready to welcome The new year With an open heart
Three days Had passed Since the snowfall First in seven years Glistening drops of Magic remained Though much Of the snow Had melted One tree Stood tall On the side Of the road Proudly wearing Its Fall colors Accessorized with Frozen white blossoms- Thankful to have Caught a glimpse- By the next day They had disappeared
I so enjoyed the snow last weekend. Mesmerized, I watched as the snowflakes fell, covering everything in their path. It felt like a gift, a fresh start. I am hoping for more snow this year. Next time, I might have to make a snow angel. 😉
Snow is not a common occurrence in Oklahoma. The expectation brings a collective holding of breath. Adults become like little children, waking up all hours of the night to see if the snow is falling.
Today is one of those uncommon days. I was awake several times during the night. At first, all was still and quiet. Doubts began to creep in…the forecast was probably wrong anyway. And then I heard something hitting the roof.
A quick look outside brought disappointment…only rain. According to the forecast, it should be changing to snow in another hour or so. I would hold my breath a little longer.
Finally, the transformation from rain to heavy snow began! It didn’t take long for the grass to turn completely white. Snow-tipped evergreens now graced the backyard. And the snowfall looked like it would last forever.
What is it about snow? It has the power to transform the faded colors of winter into a magical wonderland. Snow makes me feel like a child again-at least in my heart. But most of all, it is a reminder that when all feels bleak, the uncommon gives hope.
In the Bleak Midwinter Kelley Morris, piano
Transformation
Moonlight shines on Snow-covered grass Afternoon clouds Long dissolved Giving stars their Chance to shine Pulsing through The darkness Feathered birds- Cheerful melodies Now quieted- Nestle peacefully Inside their nests While the fox Ventures out to Gather food for pups Sleeping in the den I am tired, but The moon shines Snow is calling- Do I snuggle in Like the birds Or venture out Like the fox? Wisdom says Sleep can wait Give witness to The transformation
Stare deep Not a quick glance But a look requiring Thoughtful Contemplation Not judgment Tempted to focus On those wrinkles as Merely a sign of age- Instead, appreciate Their true origin Their significance- For others have Followed the map Of experience Those lines Lovingly display- Before walking away Take one more look Acknowledge The bright light That is your eyes Knowing it has Secretly guided Many, though you Remained unaware
Today is day one of year fifty-three! How is that possible? And my oldest son, who was born on my birthday, turns 26!
Teaching school on your birthday means lots of kids asking, “How old are you?” I always make the older ones do the math. But if youngers ask, I just tell them.
Their reactions are precious! And good for my self-esteem. At least one will say, “Oh, you look a lot younger than that!” 😉 Of course today, one also mentioned that 53 was almost 100!
Birthdays are a time for celebrating and reflecting. And I have definitely felt celebrated! I suppose this poem is my reflection. ❤
Digging Holes
Some days I am Tempted to dig Holes deep in The ground Deep enough To bury regrets Yet, experience Teaches that will Only leave behind A landscape marred By mounds of guilt- Perhaps planting Would be a better Choice than burying- Sowing seeds Of encouragement Instead of judgment Acceptance instead Of comparisons Recognizing that Each of us has Holes we could dig Regrets we could bury But we also have The power to help Fill ones scooped Out by others Tending a landscape Covered by the beauty of Love and understanding
How many things Have I missed On daily walks Thru the house Across parking lots Up and down School hallways I’m certain there Are others walking The very same paths Sometimes I see them- Really see them Past the superficial How are you? I’m fine But other days The path becomes So familiar I simply stroll Looking down Focused only on The thoughts inside My own head- Oh, to not miss again The things I’ve missed before
My heart is seeking A place of safety Not to hide But to sing At first, quietly To myself Until joy that Runs deep Becomes Overflowing Gladness, and I can sing Out loud With confidence Hearing my voice As it mingles With others Looking not to Stir up conflict Instead, pursuing Lasting peace… My heart left full… Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving will look very different for most of us this year. Mine will be nothing like those of my childhood. At least forty people gathered in my Grandparents’ small house. Everyone would fill their plate and look for a place to sit. It really didn’t matter if it was a chair or a spot on the floor. Even outside on the porch if the weather was nice. All that mattered was being together.
Although those times are long past, the memories are forever inscribed on my heart. I always look back with a smile, grateful for my growing up years.
But there is no denying the difficulties this year brings. It is my hope we can find ways to express thanks while also acknowledging those difficulties-joy mixed with our sorrow.
Traditions washed away Left with a choice- Create new ones Or spend hours Grieving the old Left with a choice- Sprinkle drops of Sadness on those I love or shower Them with love That transcends Traditions Left with a choice- Allow the temporary To weigh down or Be lifted up by Treasures of The heart Mingling joy With sadness While celebrating The mysteries of Faith, hope, love Family, friendship- Understanding Today’s choices Will become Tomorrow’s Memories
Piano Girl 