I am stuck in concrete walls/ nothing natural / I press the remote button / nature sounds emanate / from the lonely TV / stretched out on the wall.
Crickets, bird songs, cicadas trill / basking in the warm summer sun /not real / but the memories of real / somehow soothe my soul.
The sonorous splash of waves / that beat upon the shore / the screech of hungry gulls / intersperse the musical crescendos / seed heads of wind tossed crabgrass jiggle / the surfer intently gliding /all crashing down /to silence.
My heart aches / for the generations to come / who will have no real memory / and are forever stuck /beating against concrete walls.
You know, right?
We all eventually
Whither and die
Longing to arrive
On the other side
Until then we bloom
To weather life’s storms
Despite winter’s trials
As we wait
for our turn
To look into
I’ve found true joy comes from serving others. If you are feeling blue, turn on your servants heart and it will bless you. Unknown.
I’ve been feeling blue. Life hasn’t followed the pattern I expected. I’ve agonized over who’s to blame and have no concrete answer.
I do know I feel too much. Truly, these last couple of years have been arduous. Words are spoken or not. Decisions get made or not. I’ve felt that the world is an unkind and unsafe place for the most part. I’ve found myself asking “If you can’t trust your tribe who can you trust?” Where is the loyalty, the trust? Everybody scurries for cover when you ask the hard questions.
I can’t fix everything. There, I’ve said it out loud. Actually a lot of things aren’t fixable in this world. More stuff is made to be disposable. Even the toaster eventually quits toasting. But you don’t feel the same pain throwing the toaster in the trash as when someone you love trashes you.
The pain is real. But reading the above quote this morning I was reminded that the world is full of other people who feel blue and if I look beyond myself they show up. Every day. People who appreciate your words of advice. People longing for words of hope. A hug. A coffee. I may never have the answers I crave in this world, but I can concentrate on how I respond to the sadness my heart feels every day. I choose joy in service. It’s what I do. I do it because I want to. I do it because it gives me joy. It eases the burden.
I’ve turned on my servant’s heart and I don’t want to shut it off. ❤️
It is the time of year again
I hear the autumn call
In the cool brisk north wind
The whispering willows
Do their thing
Dropping leaves that cover
Things that will not be found
Till spring. And the last birds sing.
Those birds, they sing of everything
They have seen, soaring near and far
Flying high as they return
From whenst they came
Stealing grain, singing of
The journey home again
Slipping away to warmer climes
Life renewed. On the other side.
You can take it away, as far as I’m concerned—I’d rather spend the afternoon with a nice dog. I’m not kidding. Dogs have what a lot of poems lack: excitements and responses, a sense of play the ability to impart warmth, elation . . . .
Tomorrow is National Dog Day. We humans like special days, don’t we? I guess it’s about the warm fuzzy feelings they evoke in the memories of happy times. This one occurred when I was eleven.
My Father spent some years as a salesman. He had a sales area which because of its size meant that he was gone for days at a time. Returning home from one of these trips he arrived at the back door carrying a large cardboard box. Setting it on the threshold he hunkered down, unmindful of his good suit and as we children gathered around he proceeded to open the box. What to our wondering eyes did appear but the cutest, most adorable little black, red tongued puppy we thought we had ever seen.
He was so energetic, trying to kiss everybody’s faces as we passed him around. Then he peed on Mom. I remember Dad setting him on the stoop and as we all entered the house Rex (that was his new name) had to be helped over the threshold as he was too fat to wiggle over it. We all laughed.
Rex , Dad explained was a Black Labrador Retriever. He grew and grew in physical size and love, big sloppy love was his specialty. He mostly stayed outdoors as he was added to the family because Dad was away a lot. Guard dog was his primary role,but occasionally on cold winter days he was ushered into the back pantry with a special blanket and snacks. Oh the love then lol.
He turned out to be a kind, patient companion alert to rabbits and squirrels along the path to the gardens. He was the first to flush out the porcupine with her babies, much to his chagrin. He never missed an opportunity to chase a stick. He seemed to sense when we were feeling blue and would sit close letting us pat his head, almost like he was offering a prescription for what ailed us.
If he had any flaw we never found it. That is until some years later we moved to a new home near a rural highway . It seemed that he had found the one thing that caused him some excitement in his quiet country life. Added a little spice he may have said in human words. He liked to chase the pea truck.
In the early autumn the peas are harvested in the Annapolis Valley. With it begins the steady procession of overloaded trucks taking the peas (with vines still attached) to the canning factory close by.
Rex just couldn’t seem to help himself. No amount of reproof made him change his ways. Every time he heard a pea truck rumble down that road he was sprinting along beside it barking, snarling, grabbing the occasional pea vine that fell off in the breeze in his teeth, shaking it back and forth as if he had captured the flag of sorts. The truck would soon disappear out of sight, then Rex’s demeanour would relax and he would saunter back to the step as if nothing had happened. Yawn.
Sadly, that is how Rex met his demise. I wasn’t there when it happened thankfully but that darn old pea truck obscured the view of another driver passing and didn’t see Rex as he crested the hill. One thump and he lay mortally wounded in a heap on the road. The commotion that followed , children crying, strangers apologizing, and the horror of the suffering friend I could only imagine as the story was relayed to me later. Gathering around, my siblings recounted those precious minutes where hope died. It was quickly apparent that the vet wasn’t an option. Fortunately a neighbor pulled up with a hunting rifle just then and Dad put our friend to rest.
it is said that “One bad trait can ruin a whole person”. I guess that can apply to dogs too.
Rex was buried deep in the woods among the old Apple trees the area is famous for. I have never visited. My brother mourned there. Boys and their dogs are another story.
RIP Rex. I’m glad we have a day to celebrate you.❤️
Photo credit: Dirk Vonderstrabe
While skimming through some YouTube videos recently I viewed an excerpt from the 1968 motion picture Funny Girl. One of the things that most stood out for me in this movie was the song Barbara Streisand introduced by the name of “People,” often known by the line in the chorus “People, people who need people are the luckiest people in the world”. I still remember that song for many reasons. One of these is the deep-rooted notion that we are never alone in this world, furthermore that we depend on others for more that just mere survival.
People do need people. Together we comprise the real “fabric of our lives.” It is up to us to work with one another in creating unity. By understanding what we share in common, and better defining the boundaries of what makes us different, we can embrace our connectedness and our diversity in the long run. And this affects our own reality, both as individuals, as well as at large. The sooner we come to this realization, the quicker we are able to fall in sync with our life’s purpose and find fulfillment. If we are to survive the challenges of our changing world, we must trust ourselves, open our hearts and bond with others through the real experiences that enrich our spirits. Only then will we rise to the call of our true nature, As the song says “you were half, now you’re whole.” 💝
Today I overheard the term “fabric of life”
Not as a complete sentence, certainly not sure of the context
I think of criss-crossing threads, a cloth of existence
That we can wrap around our selves. An assurance of realness
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