Friday, January 27, 2012
My sister's voice,
on a silver thread
of wire and air,
hovers around me
and is transformed.
And the gray outside my house,
the chairs and tv, are gone,
and time is gone.
Her words are indiscernible,
the words that cross the plains
from her car as she waits for children
in a distant time zone, beneath a snowy peak.
So dear a connection
requires this momentary madness
where a heart is so amazed
and filled with gratitude
for the mysteries that bring love on wires and air,
that the words lose their meaning
and pierce the gray as music.
As I age, beauty unexpectedly distills out of moments where I'd not expected transcendence.
I may be rung like a bell during a walk to the curb to gather the newspaper before the sun is up, or in the middle of a phone conversation with a kid-sister.
The little things, the daily turnings, are somehow more precious.
In literature, it's Scrooge's awakening to life's joys and possibilities after his encounter with death - that carries a bit of my sense about this._______________________________________________________________
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Wednesday, January 04, 2012
Marianne at Northveiw Diary introduced me to this bit of whimsy. We are to take the first sentence of the first post of each of the past 12 months and line 'em up thusly. It's a hoot. And just maybe I do have too much time on my hands :)
Some say the world will end in fire.
Not playful, nor baleful . . .
I found this gem in the most unlikely place
No lights in the neighbors' windows yet.
One couldn't help but to see the beauty despite the damage
I wonder if the little bee,
It's been a long ten years
When her doctor took her bandages off and led her into the garden, the girl who was no longer blind saw “the tree with the lights in it."
The tarp on the garden moves like a stranded sea creature.
Too much time on my hands .