Silence

There is a soft snowfall this morning

and the trees are perfectly kissed with white

 

and there is silence here

 

A kind of quiet that is anything but

Chickadees happily chatting

throwing spent husks over their shoulders

a steady bombing of miniscule refuse onto the deck below

Pages of books slowly turning against the sound of another's breath

the way the chimney talks in response to the fires heat

soft pops and creaks

a steady heartbeat of warming steel

 

There is silence here

 

We fall easily into this life

Breathing deeper and moving slower

Hands on hips in tiny spaces

become a slow dancing conversation

necessary for sharing small distances

 hot stove and cold winter air

Mere footsteps between

 

There is silence here

 

the kind of quiet that sinks into a soul

rhythmic and wild and

pulsing with life

Elusive in worlds shared with forced air furnaces

and TV's

 

If mittened hands clasped tight

and roughened beards against smooth cheeks cannot be heard

then what more are we missing?

 

There is silence here

Have you seen

amongst this square and empty screen

the thoughts? Bouncing and careening off the walls, then

floating by on whispy clouds

 

Nothing has been tangible

No cohesive joining together in a way to tell you

how I am

what I've been up to

(you'd have to come to tea for that)

 

I would miss this place

except for that its make believe

Devised space to create the illusion of connection

which it does in its own way

(I cannot argue that)

 

More than missing this space

I miss the block of text

the current date stamp

A sort of to do list checked off for a chunk of time.

 

And I miss the words

Mine,

 and then yours

weaving together and blending

becoming snapshots of moments

A photo album of moods.



Sharing Space

The ants seem totally unconcerned

with the lightning flashing pink streaks

across the sky above us

and even less concerned with my opinion of them

Busy - always- in their quest to clean my house

of its plethora of dead fly bodies and missed toast crumbs

 

It's a series of odd bargains I seem to strike these days

with the 'others' that share this space with me

Swollen legs traded for honey

and lessons in courage

Occasional shrew poop on windowsills

beside the ghostly wing remains of moths

Lego indents in tender bare feet

for the laughter of two boys

 

Mostly, it seems easy

As easy I think, as that little ant believes moving the giant fly is

This sharing of space

mixing breath with those I love

and those I can hardly say I am fond of

leaving room for ants to be ants

and boys to be boys

 

Mostly, I say, in a breathless way

for the storms beauty and its fury still sometimes clutch at my heart

along with the opinions of others

and leave me forgetting that sealed up houses

do not breath

 

 



The T-Shirt Project

The simplicity of it pleases me.

It is comfort and ease and

personal expression

in a single piece of clothing.

Infinite possibilities

and a voice all its own.

Who doesn't have a favorite?

Let the story begin....

If you wish to follow along, this will be the best place to do so
https://www.flickr.com/photos/bluebirdsky/sets/72157645064279306/



Wishes

I find myself wishing fiercely

for the wolf willows to open their yellow flowers

and fill the air with their cloying sultry fragrance.

 

But I am trying to sweep wishes

out of my list of words

their passive waiting,

irritating and cowardly

As much as I love the way

a wish sails through ones teeth

and over the lips like a simple breath of possibilities.

 

This place was not a wish

Love is not a wish

The river pulling my seeking feet to her ravaged banks

was not a wish

 

Instead I lie still in blankets of cheery white and wild strawberry flowers

watch the honey bees pack their tiny baskets full of dandelion pollen

until they are so weighted and heavy

that their getting off the yellow flowers and into the air

seems like it too might be a wish

 

And I stroke the silvery leaves of the willows

Breathing in the bravery of patience

Trust

Bees

This is what falling in love looks like...

in my world anyway!

He asked me what it felt like

as the snow sank,

wet and muddy at our feet

and the hens ruffled soggy feathers

into the spring storm

 

Sparkly, I said.

Lots of pretty colours.

And that sweet burst of his laughter

filled the space beneath the trees

 

But what I really should have said

was that it feels like unfurling

opening layer upon layer

of heat and want and raw trust.

Expanding into a shared vastness of all that ever will be

where even the moon seems touchable

and the earth makes tiny footprints on open petals

 

and on the edge of that sweet world

arms outstretched and heart flying

 

The unfurling reverses

pressing and encircling

in gentle and fierce sweeps

that curl forever inward

to a place where there is only us

There is only us



Contrary to what I've thought of myself for quite some time, I don't follow direction well.  I'm not sure if I have been living in denial all this time, or if this is something new about me.  But there, I said it out loud and I'm admitting it to you all!

I was asked to participate in a blog tour.  Kind of a pay it forward, promotion of inspirational blogs where I am to answer some questions about myself and introduce you to a few of my blog peeps.  Feel the love! 

But here's the thing.  Its seems I have to do it my way.  To pay tribute to a few people I am adoring these days (when there is are so so many of you out there, men and women) and let all the good loving energy flow where it may.  No script, and no answers to questions that I don't seem to know the answers too.

Hope you enjoy.  People are so great - don't you think?

http://halfcenturymarkhotel.com/ Miss Patti.  She is the lovely soul who invited me along for the ride and someone who never ceases to take my breath away with her art.  Someday, I'm gonna sit down and have tea with her.  Bucket list item.

http://yogawithadriene.com/blog/ Miss Adriene.  Teaching me yoga from a million miles away and often making me laugh while she does it.  Finding what feels good!

http://tinybuddha.com/ Excellent articles and quotes that have me thinking and pondering and loving.

I read something recently that contained a thought that has stuck in my thoughts lately, and I thought I would leave it with you to also ponder.  Would love to hear what you think..... 

If, when we come into contact with another person, another soul walking this world, we cannot find something that sparks our curiosity or touches us in some way, were we really listening?  

Does he choose to walk through my door to greet me with his scintillating eyes

and choose to leave

steps heavy and shoulders hung notches lower

(noticeable only to someone who hungrily watches the way he moves)

 

Or is it just breath

unconscious movements in his chest

easy and deep

tight and smoky

 

 I whisper into my wave goodbye

 

pay attention

be astonished

this sweet, rain washed air we breath

makes no judgements on the lungs that briefly hold it



So many sweet moments in my days

I am where I wish to be

 



Where is the inspiration?

my muse?

All the words that fit together

like puzzle pieces

shaping emotions and ideas into little

rubber balls

I sometimes allow myself to call poetry

 

There is very little angst these days

no turmoil to stir the prose in pots of change and fear

Instead a solid warmth slides easily

over my days

I am content

in this house with its liquid gold sunshine

with the ones I adore, so easy to love

full, extraordinarily deep breaths of life

 

In this contentment

art seems shy

Unable, it seems,

to find a way to celebrate the exquisite delight of living

So afraid of maudlin sentiment

voices speaking of the impossibility of perpetual happiness

survivors guilt from an easy life

 

Pages lay empty and dry of words

aching for the strokes of a restless paramour's pen

While I blow happy kisses to the wind



Small Stones

 

Last night

I lay in the comforts of my bed

Under a roof that no one would call a mansion

a space I share with moths, and shrews, and leaking taps

but whose air is filled with peace, and freedom, and choice

On the little screen of my fancy phone,

I watched

across the world

Cruel hearts stone her slender body

the beautiful blue silk of her covering blowing fiercely in the wind

stirring the vigor of the hundreds gathered around her

Until it is as red and limp as she

The label of her exact transgression I do not know

but I suspect its much more innocent

than the smell of my lovers skin that still lingers on my pillow

This is not like me to watch such things

Choose not to be a spectator of the awfulness of this world

Try instead to be a celebrator of the beauty

Tonight my body and heart feel bruised and lost

How do the little stones of love that I toss to my world

so far from hers

change anything?



A Year in Photos

On the cusp of the day I will shift my years

from 34 to 35

I am tired of myself

I say this with no ill will

or harshness

(for I will treasure this book and the tenacity it represents)

 

Its not the core of me I speak of

just the exploration of the outside of me

the moods of me

the 365 moments of me that I've piled up this year

 

It is time to set that all aside

and just be.

Dig instead

into life.

Expand

Wrap my arms about the world

(and maybe my legs too)

Fall madly in love with everything

in front of me

 

I know who I am again

amidst the layers of days

that became a year,

I found her

Me who always was.

Silly me for thinking she was ever

lost

 

To see the year.... http://www.flickr.com/photos/bluebirdsky/sets/72157632450890737/

Thank you to all who were along for the ride, I couldn't have done it with out you!

Mhuh!