Place

There was a stream I loved to walk into

Cold water screaming at my ankles, then calves...black rubber tube... I laid back in its welcome circle warmed by the sun

Extended my legs

and said hello to the big blue sky that made me dizzy with clouds that floated by

not sure which of us was moving faster

Water surface like keen jeweled light

tip toeing then dancing comfortably to its own secret rhythm

ordered by wind and melt then sent from far away

Bumping from rock to mossy rock

Pushing off from deeper sides, rich smells of soil sliding from the edge

and lush sweet moss

Water the color of leaves and tree roots breaking down

Rich glowing amber 

Around the bend small gray birds lift up when they feel me coming and water follows from their wings

a new stream caught in exquisite light

and a moment

that settled inside me 

and remains

This Likeness

This Purpose

You told me that you were afraid that your life was not on schedule

That the course was not clear

You could not picture yourself in a place

I listened to your worries but

I know I never had them, until I had daughters, because I let myself drift along until I bumped into you,

I was young then and my heart was open

You took it over from the moment I knew you were there, resting and growing in my belly

waiting for your time to arrive in my arms

 and now I want so badly to tell you how wonderful it is

to have come to this place and time when each day is recognized as a gift

not always wrapped neatly

Sometimes the hands that hold it ache or tremor

Not just from angst or anticipation

Mostly my breath is taken away

By the measure of who you have each become

Like it or not

The purpose of this life was to bear witness

to possibility

and not just my own.

I dive into the water several nights per week

I know I am there for quiet and to hear myself breath

water warming against my skin with each

awkward stroke

changing it up side to side, front to back

dragging myself across the surface

while the bored lifeguard flicks himself awake

He avoids eye contact and it's okay with me

I just wish I were a better swimmer

For fun I envision myself as a butterfly 

not panicked when I close my eyes and

 bump into the cool blue sides

, thinking I will feel the water better that way

I am determined

To propel myself forward

Making time

against that aimless clock with the giant hand that clucks with each move

never set for swimmers like me

who refuse to wear a rubber cap

or goggles

sometimes floating

Just because I can

Another Year of What is Good

There is something 

That I cannot explain

I only know that the force of it reminds me to say, "Thank you"

Daily.

The passing of time does not diminish the cause of my heart,

                                                   

Which is to love.

With every single fiber of my being.

I am not an anchor

but a buoy
Flopping and bouncing with wind
and waves
Knowing this boat
needs to drift sometimes
hug a shore
break loose
then submit to tides
and seaweed, wet boots, soggy blankets
matted, twisted hair at the nape of my neck
Hard rowing towards horizons and inlets
then rest
Prone to diving in without knowing how deep
the water is or how cold
Joking that I only feel one side
 fretting about the other giving out
Calling out to my god when the wind whispers
then howls so my voice disappears and I wonder
from deep within me
which prayers have been heard.

Snapshot

Big skies call me and I dream of

landscapes whizzing by with the shutter wide open

My heart thumping like a hesitant drummer

I never wonder what is at the end of the journey

 It's what fills the landscape as I move through changing scenes:

Tall matted grass

Broad fields with tractor lines and baled hay

Tiny flowers in the foreground I squint to see and cannot name

Gray brown buildings with slack boards, light streaming through

Slanted shifting shadows

Sometimes a rusted tractor with weedy tendrils woven through its wheels

holding it in place

or

Dense woods with speckled sun that tiptoes through

Taut, mossy trunks holding thick boughs with wide leaves 
bend over time
  and dead, dried trees with creaking branches that reach like old men

 pointing their arthritic fingers toward the sky, perhaps unwilling

to quit, hoping that the light and drenching rain

will keep them awake just a little longer

In Observance

In Observance

Sometimes life calls upon us

to give more than we think we can

There are perils we cannot anticipate

The suffering of others which we can choose to watch from the sidelines

or reach out despite our indifference

 the inconvenience of disrupting a day with full intentions

laundry lists (literally) best deals, produce markets busting at the seams with culturally diverse multi colored options, fruits we have not bitten

even though we wrap our fingers around them, smell them,

are tempted by them

and allow the most important parts, the sweetest, to slip through

drip on our toes

cause our feet to stick

make a mess of the carpet

But, most curious, we refuse to plant them in our gardens.