Be Still

thoughts swirl

head full 

chasing details, chasing shadows

feelings churn

heart full

gripping worries, catching fears

i seek solace

to empty the vessel

surface drops spilling easily

buckets left

deeper waters

the light

the air

the wind

the quiet

alone

raising my voice

taking shelter

until i am surrendered and

still

Linking up with
Texture Tuesday, Just Write and dVerse Poets

Release

clenched fists punched madly

until outstretched fingers raised

a prayer heavenward

 Joining

Kim for Little Things Thursdays

and

Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop

More than...

"Like the sun through the trees you came to love me."

{Forever Autumn, Moody Blues}

Sometimes,

when you take a five minute break

Sometimes,

when you walk towards the water to grab a quick picture of 

the sunlight shining through pretty yellow leaves

Sometimes,

in the middle of a ho-hum, ordinary day...

...a swan swims right into your shot

Sometimes,

when you ask for a tiny bit of refreshment

Sometimes,

when you imagine a peaceful five minutes with the sun on your face

Sometimes,

when you least expect it...

...you receive immeasurably more than you ask or imagine

Joining Kathy for

Song-ography

Shifting Shore

Shoreline, ever moving
ever changing
day in
day out

Feet on sandy ground, toes kissed by waves
of salty goodness
breathing
aware of something beautiful

Oh, the ebb, the flow
each day melts into the next
no two the same

And water can rise quick
for years I've been scared of it
wondering
will it subside
will today pull me under
knock me to my knees
pull me under?

Arms up, arms out
you're
not gonna let me drown
not gonna!
I won't let myself drown
let myself down
I kneel
reach up, reach out
stand up

And I walk

along the shifting shore
the ripples chase me
I breathe

I find the air I need to breathe
and I'm
aware of all things beautiful

{Inspired by NeedToBreathe's "Something Beautiful"}

Linking up with

Song-ography

Walk With Me

Stretched across the lawn at the top of the first little hill

I find shadows

thrown gently across the lawn.

Early evening sun and an iron gate. 

The simplicity touches me.

The first glimpse of the pond at the  bottom of the hill

tells the story of the season.

Light, water, ice.

Warmth and chill playing tug of war.

And I wonder, as I walk and ponder the season's transition,

what is pulling at me?

I pray for new-borns and families that are dear to me.

I pray for friends who have suffered great loss this week.

Some of us striving to hold on,

others struggling to let go.

Today, witnessing the earth's tug of war.

I find surrender....

'To every thing there is a season and a time for every purpose under heaven.'

The wooded paths stretch out before me

and the sun plays with every leaf, every branch.

It's along this part of the path that I see a little boy let go of his mom's hand

and begin to toddle towards me.

"Daddy! Daddy!" he shouts as he scoots past me and jumps into his dad's arms.

For just a few short seconds I'm allowed to share in this - his pure joy.

Around the next bend, the brush clears and the path cuts across the pond.

The water is very high right now, 

rippling boisterously towards the edge of both sides of my path.

Turning to face the sun,

it's the wind that hits my face.

Not the light or the warmth,

but a blustery, chilly wind.

I stand very still for several minutes and just let it all wash over me.

Just to my right?

A delicious, sun kissed birch.

And right above me?

BUDS!

Feathery, small, reddish buds that weren't there two days ago.

Each tree with a story to tell.

Each tree responding to the sun's warmth in it's own time.

'Adopt the pace of nature. Her secret is patience.'

Emerson

As I turn for one last look at the sun setting over the water

I see a hawk hovering in the sky

focused intently on the something in the waters below.

While I'm watching him (her?)

my brother calls. 

It's his birthday, and we both wish we were hanging out together today.

But he's in the Hawaiian surf, and I'm walking the pond.

Later on,

when I texted him this photo to show him what I was looking at when he called,

he texted back,

"Kind of nice to think that it's the same sun."

I left work dragging my feet.

I left the pond renewed.

Linking up with

Bigger Picture Blogs

Angels

I started to really believe in angels when my son was learning to crawl walk run jump...well, let's just say that during his very active baby-toddler-childhood years I'm certain there was some force beyond any of us mere mortals protecting him from harm. I used to joke {secretly really believe} that there were coffee table angels stationed in our living room. One at each corner of the table. Because somehow those corners and edges managed to miss the head of my flying/falling child every single time.

And then there was the freckle on my daughter's eyelid. As she was snuggled in bed each night, I would gently kiss her forehead. She'd close her eyes, and I'd tell her that her angels were kissing her special freckle. Her angels were gentle, protective and aware - just like she was. His angels were just...well...very busy.

As they grew, I wanted them to believe that they were a part of something much bigger than their little lives and our little world. I longed for them to know that they were connected. Never alone. Held dear and held on to by a presence, a force much greater than a mother or father's love. As they ventured off to school and into their own lives, I knew that as my eyes lost sight of them, they were still being watched over. I knew that, though bumps and bruises - both physical and emotional - would come, they were being guided and led far beyond any place that my dreams or vision could take them. And I absolutely knew that they were never, ever alone.

Last week I had a close call with something that really scared me. After I had calmed down I was flooded with memories of all the chats I'd had with those angels for years and years while raising my kids. Now that my nest is "empty" I don't seem to think about them as much as I once did. I certainly don't call on them with any regularity ~ just the occasional request to fly with and ahead of a certain driver that I love. Or to watch over air flights.

Truth is, I think it's just the vocabulary that's changed. My awareness of belonging to and being connected to a being, a force much greater than myself has only grown more certain, more powerful the older I get. And there's no shortage of gratitude in my heart and gratitude expressed for the simple blessings of every day....for the grand blessing of a guiding force. Now, I don't know if  "angels" have wings or how the one I call Father shows himself to you...but I know that this week I was reminded {yet again} to pay attention. To stay alert. To look for those millions of manifestations of that grace and power.

Because when my heart and my mind are open, it is then that I see.

Sharing thoughts from Project 52 week 7 here
and linking to Just Write here

Since Friday....

 ^"The Spirit also comes to help us, weak as we are. For we do not know how we ought to pray; the Spirit himself pleads with God for us in groans that words cannot express. And God, who sees into our hearts, knows what the thought of the Spirit is; because the Spirit pleads with God on behalf of his people and in accordance with his will."

Romans 8:26-27

The only thing I could think to do on Friday evening, was to take myself to the water's edge. I watched the setting sun paint bold stripes across the twilight sky. I stood still, breathing in the frosty air and let the tears come.

I prayed.
As heaven's door was opening wide to welcome God's children home, I prayed.
Prayed, knowing that heaven's door was open...
Prayed, knowing that millions were lifting their eyes heavenward, hoping for the beyond...
Prayed, knowing that goodness was embracing those that had been taken....
Prayed, willing the heavens to send us goodness.
Send comfort and peace to those left behind.
I asked for faith. I begged for understanding and hope.
Mostly there were silent prayers. Wordless prayers.

Saturday morning, that same sun brought a new day.
Sparkling frost on the window sent chills. How would I, could I .... as a parent, greet a new day without one of my children? These are not the first parents to face this, nor would they be the last. It is so utterly unfathomable to me. As I got into my car to go meet a friend...as life went on...I knew that more of those wordless prayers were groaning and working their way heavenward.

It was later last night, as we spent an evening with my daughter, her husband and some of our dearest friends that I felt my heart begin to settle. A bit. My daughter, who loves to decorate for Christmas, has her childhood manger on a shelf in her newlywed home ... it's surrounded with light and mementos from her wedding. And I'm overcome with gratitude for the life that she's had...that she has. And pray that her future children will be safe. Children should just be safe. And I groan, and the Spirit pleads.

It was wonderful to get to play with three gorgeous children last night. Their laughter, innocence, energy and hugs began to fill up the broken open places in my heart. For me, as I'm sure is true for everyone reading here today....one of my favorite, absolutely favorite things, is to look into the eyes of a child.

As Sunday morning draws to a close, and I sit with you...in this space, searching for words...I know, as so many have written, that there really aren't any. So, I will, again, close my eyes, and offer silent prayers.

Linking up with Sunday Citar and Scavenger Hunt Sunday and Show off your Shot