Word Paintings - What they Mean to Me

I came up with the term "Word Paintings" to describe the vivid recollection of memories or descriptive writing that I sometimes like to do. I haven't created a "Word Painting" in some time now. I will pick the habit back up soon...

Ouch!!

So a couple of things happened simultaneously a few minutes ago. Roxie coughed, tipped the bucket she was standing on over then dropped the glass of milk she was holding.

So after bringing her to the living room I bent down to pick up the glass (which had hit the kittie food on it's way down, oh yeah the ringer beeped on the stove for the bread as well), interspersed between the kittie food...

I picked up the big pieces of glass and was trying to rescue some of the kittie food, when Roxie came in to stomp on it and I shooed her out again. I got the big pieces and I have this bad habit of scooping stuff up in my hand (like kittie food) so I did that and cut the side of my hand with the glass!!

So I was bleeding and for some reason I thought of the time that I went swimming with my older brother Jonothan and how we almost drowned right underneath the nose of the life guard!! I feel like writing about it...

I am having fun, hanging on to the sides of the pool, dashing back and forth, splashing to make you laugh.

I remember playing with you, the way you lift your eyebrows to show amusement, the depths of your soul in your eyes.

We keep to the edge, you feel safer there, and we walk slowly around. You feel safe with me, I feel so proud to have you by me, my brother.

Were almost to the deep end, don't fear, its safe to walk in this part, let go of the wall. I jump up and down, showing you that it is safe, you trust me so you let go and come to me.

But you veer to far to the left and suddenly you lose your footing, your drowning!!

I rush to you, foolish, you grab me and push me down. NO Stop!! Gasp!! Stop!! The swiriling blackness surrounds me, your desperate for air as well.

I have to think clearly, is there someone to help? I scream at the lifeguard, help! help! But he continues to look on, past us, no help there, then I must do it myself.

I am down, down under the water losing air, I look up from the abis, praying in desparation.

From somewhere, deep down I focus there is something that I can do, this is not the time to die. If only I could reach the side, if only you would stop tearing at me in desparation.

Calm down, Jonothan, calm down. Finally I reach out, grasping for the slippery edge of the pool where it drains over the ledge. I grab ahold, firmly looping my arm over the edge and turn to grasp your hand.

Come, it's ok, come, that's right, calm down. There's the ladder, lets get out, that's right, it's ok. Here, come, here, it's ok. Walk slowly, it's slippery, go get your towel, it's time to go. I watch as you walk away, relieved.

SG

A Better Post about Life

Hello out there!

Sorry for my neglect... I needed a break. I think this blog deserves a good word painting, so here you all are.

Life,

So beautiful, and terrible, embraced with passion each step that you take can lead you to the gift of fulfillment, joy, happiness, yet terrible misery as well.

Embraced, embraced, can we live another way?

Of course we can, drift, wander, a lost soul in the sea of humanity. A dream, unfulfilled dies away with neglect and we are reduced to apathy.

Yet life, life, life can throb, life can fill there can be a fullness of joy, bursting forth from our hearts as we shake off the shame of what we think is owed us, and create for ourselves beauty from the ashes.

Marvel at the fresh scent of a new spring day, the mountains solid, sturdy, verdant and strong. Stand in awe of Gods wonders, stand in awe of the elements. Accept that things don't always work the way that you want, people don't always agree, but they too are aching with thoughts of life, all deserve to live.


~AV

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Building Anticipation

Scorching heat, dry weeds.

Tall, sparse weeds, some cockle burs that stick to your socks.

A lonely desolate place, though somehow it is a place that speaks softly of expectation, as though at any moment "something" exciting will happen.

Languishing in the sun, following the lines down, further and further as the anticipation builds.

Almost giving up, when...

A low rumbling starts, so faint only vibrations and expectation is felt at first.

In the distance, clickity clack, tickity tack, clickity, tickity, clickity, tickity.

Growing louder and louder, the rumbling as well.

Suddenly a long slow whistle, like a lost soul cries out.

Wooo wooooo

Bursting onto the scene is the rattling train, clickity, tickity, clickity, tickity.

The weeds shiver and the smell of coal dust and steel emanates from the shuttering beast.

Clickity, tickity, clickity, tickity, clickity, tickity on and on it goes.

Until suddenly,

Scorching heat, and dry weeds,

are the only thing you can see.

Short lived fulfillment,

as the anticipation begins to build again.

Prairie Roots

Open wild prairie and dessert.

Dawn breaking over the horizon, lightening from a pale yellow to an azure blue, awakening the earth to yawn and stretch forth with the warming sun.

A word painting... moved over to my writing blog (need to keep more writery stuff over there I think).

Reality

This is a word painting combinining thoughts from two walks on clear days. The first part, some thoughts while heading back from my long walk, the second while out for a walk on a beautiful cloudless night.



Reality

Are we asleep or awake at this very moment? Walking down the pathway, the embrace of the universe, open clarity. Looking out in glassy eyed wonder as the stream thunders past, as the planes fly overhead, as the trees stand in perfect stillness in their place.

Sometimes I wonder, on days that are clear, whether, I am in a dream or whether I am asleep. It is as though the world has yet to be enlivened, that its spirit is at rest. It is at these times when I feel the breath of the earth as a living entity a soft kiss against my skin.

I am waiting in breathless anticipation for a revelation of my own essence, the clarity of the sky seems to be the open conduit to the heavens and though I walk amongst the open aired wonder of trees and birds, mountains and streams, my soul is aware of the spirit of all that I pass.

Awareness, I feel the presence of others as I pass aware of their awareness. I feel their eyes on me as I walk, the clear day having turned to inky black night.

I am aware of the shuffling sound of my steps on the pavement, the halted conversations as I pass, the slowing down of cars as they see me, the silent conversation between pedestrian and driver as I look towards a car to convey my intent to cross. I don’t see them inside, but I know they have picked up the signal.

I am aware of the people in their homes, and the homes where no one lives. What essence enlivens a place, fills it with a spirit that can be felt by those who pass?

I am aware of the cats as they slink along in the trees. The trees that I reach out to, to touch the buds of emerging leaves, lightly feeling them against the tips of my fingers.

I am aware of the blood coursing through my body as I push it to go up the hill, the muscles as they warm to their task, my breath as my lungs fill to compensate for the exertion.

The hill rises before me, the power lines overhead course along as though they too are moving. They move against the clear dark sky and the image of the warrior, revered from ancient times comes into view.

I turn around to descend and feel as though I stand on top of the world, aware of my place, a soul in the vast universe. Connected with the feeling of the ground beneath my feet and the air as I walk dances along my arms and against my face, picking up the strands of my hair.

The feeling encourages me to run, run down the hill, forcing the breath of the earth to increase, forcing my hair to trail out behind me and the wind to rush against my ears. My own breath increasing again to match the increase of speed as I rush down the hill, feet tumbling over each other until I reach the bottom.

The silent wanderer heads towards home again, wondering at the reality of each step as I go. Wondering as I gaze up at the moon, at the clouds which are making their silent pilgrimage across the sky.

As I open the door to my home, the sound of the television, the hum of the refrigerator, the greeting of my children all seem more real than the world which I have left. The world where my spirit fly’s aloft in the sky’s.

Camping Word Painting

I am up early listening to the dawn chorus outside my window and the long haunting call of a passing train. So I decided I wanted to post something and this is what the slightly chilly air from my open window reminded me of.

Camping Word Paintings...

Awakening from a restless sleep, the cool crisp mountain air filled her head as she stumbled out of bed, thirsty. The smell of the polyester tent and stale campfire smoke on their clothing was her next awareness as she fumbled in the dark for her shoes and jacket, she could feel the cool bite in the air.

She unzipped the tent, the sound odd in the stillness of the morning, when no other foreign sound disturbed the primordial song of the morning chorus. A yawning awareness of the faint faded tones of the morning came over her as she walked toward the motor home to grab a cup.

The smell of the grasses and the water from the stream was as mana to her city sensibilities. She was still sleepy, thought she though longingly of sitting by the embers of the bonfire to listen to the birds and the last efforts of the crickets to communicate in the early dawn.

She reached the water spigot and lifted the handle and a sucking sound, followed by an ever increasing gurgling came up from the pipe. Water finally reached the apex and spilled over and she lowered the handle a bit to stem the tide of rushing water, then got herself a drink.

The freezing cold water hit her stomach with a sting and it growled at her in hunger. She finished off the cup then got some more water draining that cup as well.

The hunger pains subsided a bit, and she decided that sitting by the mostly cold fire pit would be uncomfortable and lonely, like the longing for bright flames and warmth from a friend.

So she unzipped the tent again and made her way back to her sleeping bag and pillow. The upper part of the bag had grown cold and it made her shiver to feel it and the freezing pillow against her cheek. Her legs found some remnants of warmth though and she rubbed her feet together and against the blanket to create some warmth from the friction.

Everyone else in the tent was sleeping soundly, a few even snoring, which was slightly annoying and slightly amusing.

She rubbed her arms with her long sleeves pulled down over her hands trying to get the chill off her skin, then turned over to warm the other side of her face. After a lot of rubbing and clenching together of the blankets and sleeping bag, she finally felt warmed up and she listened to the song of the birds, now distant, as she drifted off to sleep again.

Sunday Storm

Gathering wind, a smattering of rain, fierce elemental forces seeking entrance. Shaking the windows, rushing past the door, taking control of the pines and the aspens, sturdy fences shuttering.

My soul awakens.

The wind dashes against me as I step out onto the back porch. I feel the raw tingle of rain against my face and am drawn to watch the nodding pine tree as a dozen little aspens quake, their leaves dancing about, above the old garage.

The windows wink at me through the broken glass and the blue tarp that my father has tied on the front is drawn and dashed by the wind.

I walk against the elements, appreciating the smell of the rain, as well as the scent of wet cedar wood and pavement, co-mingling, a subtle mixture that reminds me of my parents home.

Puddles gather in the cracked pavement, the grass of the lawn a darker wet green. Worms make there way up to escape their muddy prisons, I avoid them as I step and hear the bird seed crunching beneath my feet.

I feel the fellowship of the earths spirit, speaking to my own as I walk through the storm, a fitting backdrop for tumultuous feelings. I gaze fearless about me, somehow finding my mind to be clearer, my determination more sure.

Storms come, life is like a storm. Things that seemed sturdy can be shaken and tossed, sometimes shattered. Yet the earth and I have one great goal, renewal and regrowth.

A wiping away of the old and the ugly, sewing new seeds, seeds of beauty.

Escaping to the wild... Part 1

Ahhh, sleeping out under the stars. Such a fulfilling thing to do, uh that is if you like cold noses, strange noises, and the hard lumpy ground.

Yet there is something about waking up in the morning in the fresh dawn and looking about as the sun slowly lightens, dimly brightening, casting shadows upon the rocks and pebbles as it rises.

A word painting about camping...

Traveling far, or in your own backyard there is something about camping.

Preparations to go camping can be fun and stressful as well. You pack all of the imaginable things you might need, to find that you don't really need it and that you've left what you really needed at home.

We usually travel, the vibration of the car lulling the travelers into a soft reverie, after the kids get sick of poking at each other and fighting. As we are driving I watch as the road zips past, looking down at the pavement, following the white lines.

Water and chips are passed around, I eat a few but find a bag of carrots and crunch on them as I am counting the metal poles, counting, counting, until my eyes get tired. So I snatch the pillow from the back and lean it up against the car frame, akwardly snuggling into it as I close my droopy eyes.

I contemplate the car handle sticking out and try to position my arm against the arm rest. I reposition my body, moving my legs in cramped quarters, surrounded by stuff on the floor. Somehow I go to sleep and I awake to find that we are still zipping along past majestic pine forests, rocky outcroppings, fields, farms and little city's with only a few stop lights.

We eventually turn off onto a gravel road, mostly maintained, yet still filled with bumps and little pits in the dirt. It is impossible to sleep, a yawning stiff awareness comes over you as your jerked this way and that.

The tires crunch along hundreds of little rocks being scraped in between the wheels and occasionally you can feel the pings on the floor of the car as some of them are flung up wildly by the tires.

You may be at first ascending a small trail, winding around and around, dizzy as you glance over the side. Then suddenly you may just as well be heading down, feeling almost as though the wheels of the tires are slipping as the driver slowly breaks and steadies the vehicle down the trail.

When you reach your destination the confines of the car suddenly seem to be so great, carefully you open the car door and smell the dust that is still gliding past from the road and the smell of pine off in the distance.

Finally you can stretch, reaching up towards the sun, everyone goes off in search of the bathroom. As they all leave I walk a ways towards the water lapping against the shoreline, the smell of it comes to me as the smell of the dust fades away.

As the others are heading down I go back up to use the restroom, my feet crunching against the gravel, slipping a bit. I pick my way through the weeds and the rocks, breathing a bit harder than I thought I would in the high mountain air.

The door to the toilets is heavy, swinging on thick metal hinges, you pull it open from the high handle. Then you find a reminder of how our ancestors all used to go, a nice toilet seat, suspended high above an airy hole. The room is freshened by the smell of a disinfectant tablet, like the smell of moth balls.

After feeling the breeze underneath, it feels great to get out of there to walk back down the trail again. Stepping carefully again to avoid sliding, and stepping in rough scrub brush, on small mountian flowers or even the occasional cactus, I walk haltingly downward leaving a trail of dust in my wake.

The water though, the sounds of the water, lapping up against the shoreline, freshening the air, it is worth it to have come.

The Birthplace of Galaxies

Standing on the edge of a black hole, I look down, contemplating it.

I feel its draw, the grasp of unimaginable gravity.

Looking around, I see nothing, time has come to a stand still.

So I burst my indecision into a million pieces, shattering the stained glass.

Headlong into the center of the pit, letting it carry me as the darkness swirls around me.

All of my preconceived notions fall away and I am left staring at the essence of my soul.

Staring at something that was lost, inhibited by all of the views seen through others eyes.

and I realise that this hole is not endless, nor is it even as dim as I thought.

No a clear breathtaking shining black.

I have been falling, falling, falling down? or Up? I know not.

Suddenly I find myself bursting forth from the bands which have bound me. Leaping, leaping towards a future that I know not of.

As I am kneeling on a meteor, readying myself for another burst, I am suddenly struck down.

Grasping for the meaning of it all I look around to find that tentacles of hope are reaching towards me out of a friendly cloud.

Showing me that there are places and possibilities that I have never even imagined.

As the rays of sunlight burst forth in a magnificent display I realise that I am actually in a place of new birth, the birth of galaxies, of new stars.

Sudden joy fills my heart, oh the possibilities of letting go!! Of reveling in the joy of creation with a friend who would create new possibilities as well.

The joy of fighting what seemed like a losing battle, reassured that it matters that I do so.

Instead of gravity, the power of the black hole becomes an anchor. I fly with the wings of hope towards dreams that I had never dared to dream.

I am glad that I jumped, it was scary to take the chance. But worth it to have decided to live.

Rainy Day Special

The rain today is so friendly, nice and warm. It has been raining steadily throughout the day, sometimes drizzling, sometimes pouring. I wonder sometimes if atmospheric pressure can be felt before the rain because I usually get a bit stressed and headachy before it rains, then when it rains I always feel nice and calm (or maybe its just the sound of the rain and the beautiful fresh smells).

Here's the rainy day story that I promised...

All day Daniel and I had been working on our box house. Dad had brought home several large refrigerator boxes and we had been happily putting them to good use.

I ran into the house for more tape and scissors while Daniel was happily cutting away at some parts of the boxes.

I ran quickly dashing up the stairs, opening and closing the drawers that you could usually find scissors in. Until finally I found some in my moms room in the little tin that she kept on her dresser.

I was anxious to get back out again before Daniel did something that I didn't want him to do, so I ran right past the refrigerator where we kept the tape. I stopped with my hand on the door knob and turned back quickly, scraping over a chair as I walked over to the refrigerator.

Standing on tip toes I searched the top of the refrigerator hoping to spy the tape quickly, there was so much stuff that I had to move it around.

Frustrated I put the scissors down and the anxiety in my stomach built as I imagined Daniel having all of the fun while I was rifling through the stuff on the refrigerator.

I had to take some of it down and put it on the table, in order to open the cupboard door. Finally I found some tape, hiding in a basket, so I snatched it up and heedless of the mess ran outside with my tape and scissors.

Daniel had cut out several windows and an opening for a door. I cut strips of tape to make hinges for the door and deftly applied them. As we worked we imagined all sorts of amazing rooms for our house, a second level, and a kitchen.

Then when we ran out of cardboard (and not finding any more after several search missions), we excitedly formed a plan to sleep out in our playhouse. Energized by our idea we cleaned up all of the stray pieces of tape and brought tape and scissors into the house, where we dumped it all on the kitchen table.

We ran up to our moms room "Mom! Can we sleep out in the playhouse we made." Mom gave us a stern look, "Did you clean up the mess?" We unabashedly told her we had (with the thought of quickly cleaning up the kitchen), then we heard the familiar words "Go ask your Dad." Which we generally liked to turn into a vote in our favor.

So we ran out to the backyard searching for our Dad. Daniel stood back and let me ask him, "what does your mom say?" I immediately answered that she said that we could. He warned us that it looked like it was going to rain, but we shrugged it off, sure that our fantastic house would keep us dry.

"Alright, I don't think you'll make it through the night. You'll come on in if it starts raining, OK?" We scoffed "were not going to need to come in the house, our play house is water proof!" Then we ran into the house to gather up our stuff, blankets, sleeping bags, pillows. Plus some books and snacks (in case we got hungry).

After dinner, we helped Dad locate the remote so that we could watch the news with him. This was a generally enjoyable thing to do because he liked to tease my mom by flipping the channels while the commercials were on and it was funny to hear bits and pieces from the different shows and commercials flash past.

"Friday!, well!, in other..., amazing, travel abroad, only $19.95!, carpet." Mom would huff at dad, "Jon, stop!" and his sly grin told us that he was teasing her.

When it was time for bed we went to get our pajamas on and brushed our teeth. Then made a big show of going off to our own home, our parents ignored the dramatics, "alright, have a good night."

We marched out to our "house" and settled in, snuggling down in the blankets we started talking and imagining things. We told a few ghost stories, then knelt down on top of our blankets to say a little prayer, acting as grown up as possible we thought.

Finally we settled in and dozed fitfully for a while in our uncomfortable positions. The next awareness that I had was the sound of the rain pitter pattering upon the roof of our little house.

Then the smell of the rain and of damp cardboard, I turned over and snuggled down in my blankets a bit more, ignoring the rain since I didn't want to go into the house. I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, drowsily snuggling against my pillow.

Then I felt a drop and this served to wake me further. I lay there ignoring the drip, drip, drip coming down onto my shoulder until I couldn't stand it anymore.

"Daniel," I whispered. "Are you awake?" I kind of knew the answer since I had felt a shift in his awareness. "Yeah," he answered. "There's a leak, what should we do?"

He shuffled around and I shuffled around looking for a piece of extra cardboard to slip in the roof to cover the hole. Finally we got the hole covered and shivering we huddled closely for warmth, but we were stubborn kids and didn't want to go in the house.

We dozed a bit, until we heard another drip, drip, we shoved a blanket in that one. Then settled in again, drip, drip, another blanket was put into the hole. Our teeth were chattering, and we were clinging to our blankets in cold desperation.

Finally an idea came to me, "lets move the house under the carport." We got out and felt the downpour in full force. Stubbornly we picked up our little playhouse and brought it under the carport, then climbed back in.

Our blankets were wet, our pillows were damp and cold. We lay there a few minutes then almost simultaneously felt like going in. "Let's go in!" I told Daniel. He was already scrambling out of our cardboard doorway and I followed closely behind him, the sky outside was starting to lighten through the rain.

The house was silent in the predawn hours, but warm. We congratulated ourselves for making it through the night. It was five in the morning, we sat down at the table all full of childish happiness at our feat then decided to pour ourselves some orange juice.

Sitting across from Daniel I drank my juice and grinned at him, then rubbed my cold nose, "I'm going to go back to bed, how about you?" He enthusiastically agreed and we ran to our rooms. My bed never felt so warm and cozy to me then it did at that moment. :D

A Stroll at Midnight

Out for a nice little walk with Roxie, plug her into her stroller and tuck a fuzzy blanket up around her.

We start off together into the fresh Spring air. Finally Spring, another dose of it anyway after the twists and turns of the moody Utah weather.

Walking, steadily, over bumps in the sidewalk, around mailboxes and trash cans, someone has left a broken coffee table kneeling at an angle, missing some of its legs.

The train whistle off in the distance is part of the fabric, a thread of sound connected with the steady clickity clack of the stroller.

We pass by some students, some in a group, chatting and laughing, another gazing in appreciation at the stars as he stands outside his friends house waiting for the door to be answered.

The stars, I can't help gazing too, veering off the sidewalk a bit at times as I walk and stare at the patterns and twinkling, the different hues and brightnesses. It is awe inspiring to be a part of it all.

We turn the corner and walk along the usually busy main road that connects all of the little side streets. Now eerily empty, lit by the tall streetlamps, shining a fuzzy orange glow.

With caution I approach the cross walk and try to peer around the cars parked on the street, it is difficult since the angle is awkward.

So with a bit of trepidation I walk out going slowly in case a car with a little too much speed and a little too much confidence decides to spin around the roundabout at the left, down the street.

I glance left then right and run across, unsure of my luck on the seemingly deserted street.

Then I follow along on the uneven, broken sidewalk which is lifted in places by tree roots and cluttered by trash and other debris. The air though is so clean, it feels good to be out.

I look about appreciatively at the cherry trees in bloom, at the peaceful desertion of the streets, the whole night serenity of the neighborhood.

I breath in the different scents in the air, damp earth, trees in bloom, and laundry softener, carried to me by the wind.

I can smell Suavital, a memory of a friend is evoked, how funny that scent can do that. So vivid the memory, it makes me reflect a bit, about times gone past.

I am brought back to attention by the need to cross into the street, so I lower the front wheels of the stroller and cross, then turn down a favorite part of the neighborhood, where many friends reside.

I see that Susan has her little vegetable garden started, good for her, we still need to get ours planted, on the agenda, again. We cross the street again, where a few towering pines grow and a little stream flows.

I squat next to Roxie and follow the stream with my eyes, it flows calmly, rippling over the little rocks in the bed. The sound of water tinkles in my ears and I am mesmerized until Roxie tells me "enough mommy," so I get going again.

Only to find that a glorious cherry tree is in bloom in the next yard. It looks so friendly and inviting I just want to embrace it. So I get up close and touch the blossoms with my finger tips and smell them appreciatively.

Moving on I spy another such tree across the street, this one's fate is sadder, it has fallen prey to the heavy snows of last week and several large branches are down. The sight makes me sad a little, so I go over to it, to commiserate with the tree a bit.

The blossoming branches lay drooping on the ground and I wish that I could restore them again. Again the urge to embrace the drooping branches comes to mind as a friend would to cheer up another.

I let Roxie get up close and she pats the flowers a bit. I break off a little branch, the main branch will die soon, it makes me sad to think of it. But I feel happy to have a little piece of beauty to carry with me as I stroll along.

We turn back and I notice other broken trees, hurt by the capriciousness of winter in the middle of Springs proceedings.

Back walking towards my home again I sigh as the stars twinkle and remember a friend. A friend who describes stars as the twinkling of a dream and this makes me smile.

Back across the street, the busy deserted street, flowing with ghost cars. I park the stroller and bring Roxie and her blanket inside. To curl up in a room comfortable from the open window, and air that smells like spring.

Connecting It All

Connecting It All

The yearning of our souls stretching out to expand the cramped and narrow horizons of the mind. Trying to touch another, to connect with something deep within another heart, another soul.

A place and time unimagined before, suddenly opened up to new possibilities. The words of the author, words from the dust, extolling you from times gone past.

Wisdom shared from some timeless truth, some law of the universe, something that we yearn for in the secret places of our hearts.

Drawings on the wall of a cave, images out of the mind of some primeval warrior, which speak of the battle, the beasts and of love.

Broken pottery on the floor, remnants of hands which held and shaped it. Perhaps lips that supped from the ancient cup, residues of grapes that grew so long ago, which enlivened the senses of the vessels that bore souls.

Souls which are now woven into the story of time, souls who’s spirit look out through your own eyes. Threads woven from the fabric of many lands, many peoples, reflected by the mirror if you only care to look.

More Snow Falls

Bumping up this post, cause the snow keeps on coming around again...


Well, in life as in weather, the snow will fall just when you least expect it. Sometimes I welcome the snow, it is a covering for the bare winter world. But it is a frozen cover a suspension of time as you will for the world. Time stands still, the only action is from the flakes of snow, drifting down. Silently down, softly down then comes the wind, howling. Howling about the aches and pains of a lonely drifting soul, who's soul? No one knows, it could be your own. You shiver, but not from the cold, but from the realization that you have felt the same as the howling wind. You felt that way and anyone who has felt that way cannot forget. Yet the snow is sometimes your friend, a benediction to the closing year. Listen as it falls upon Christmas eve night, there is an erie glow in the world, the air smells fresher because of the snow. You cling to your covers and close your eyes tight. Santa is coming, who know's what he will bring tonight. Your fairly sure you were good, so your not worried, not much. The snow is the reassurance that things will be right in the morning.

Walking through the snow.

My shoes are inadequate for the task, I have to walk home. Ten steps into the crunchy snow I realize that this will not be easy, perhaps if I take a short cut I will get there faster. So I turn the back way, brrrr my feet are cold, and my pants are getting wet as well. Grit your teeth, wrap your coat tighter and think of a warm bath and hot cocoa at home. Keep walking, crunching through the snow, at least that is satisfying. Crunching the glassy ice that has formed on the side of the road. Woops that one held water beneth it, now my feet are really wet. Brrrr keep walking, no sense in stopping that will not end the misery. Now I am avoiding the ice, although I would like to stomp on it. The path ahead looks smooth, good, glibly I walk into it. Woops this path was a trick, it was formed from the snow ploughs, deep hills on the side of the road, made smooth by the wind. Now I am really wet, up to the top of my pants. Trudge, trudge to the road, where the wheels of the cars have made a path through the snow. Whew, that was bad, but I am almost home. I am hurrying now, as much as I can with my stiff feet and stiff legs. How odd it feels to be wet, cold and stiff on the bottom and warm and dry on the top. Round the bend then round another, cross through the neighbors driveway from the backroad to the front. Trudge, stomp pull my legs faster and faster, until I am slightly running. Around the corner, through the neighbors yard, into our back door. Brrr wet clothes off, I go to the bathtub where I run slightly warm water (the hot water hurts). Until my legs and feet warm up a bit, then I run warmer and warmer water until the aching pain is gone. I grab a fluffy towel and dry off, dress and stand over the furnace while it blows hot air to warm me up. I decide to get some cocoa and leave the cocoon of the warm bathroom. Finally I am feeling warm, inside and out and I decide to rest. I snuggle down into the covers, into the warmth, into a comfortable sleep. (This really happened to me).

I hope your winter is going well.

~Strawberry Girl

Free Summer Days...

I am working on taxes again!! Our payroll is a mess (and it's not my fault) :{

So as a break I feel like writing a bit about carefree childhood days.

The day outside has started off grey and chilly but that doesn't deter us because we love the extra intrigue that it adds to the air.

It is as though someone has added a filter to the sun, the greens of the garden, the pink of the spicy miniature roses on their bush stand out as if colored as an afterthought on a black and white painting.

We zip up our jackets and wear an extra shirt as well, then we run around the house looking for magnets, flashlights, and a camera. We also fill baggies with cereal to take along with us and dig out the stale bread from the bread cupboard to feed to the ducks.

We hop on our bikes, a bit awkward with our stash of stuff, yet eager as well. We peddle down the road, stopping occasionally to adjust things, and going slow because we keep letting go of the handle bars to grab a bag here or a flashlight there.

When we get to the river trail we park our bikes by the rusty metal bridge and put our stuff down while we lock them up.

First of all we decide to get rid of the stale bread by feeding the ducks. They know what we are there for so they all gather around us quacking, and a few geese nip at them and honk at us.

We can't break the bread up fast enough, the ducks are voracious eaters. They are so jumpy and noisy that it is amusing. I get mad because the little green headed male keeps pushing a little grey girl out of the way to get at the bread. So I devise a strategy to throw a piece out behind the girl and away from the boy.

This almost works but a large matronly female snatches it, defeated the little girl duck sits patiently while the others get there fill. So I hold off a minute until the others lose interest, then I carefully throw a bit out for the little grey.

We throw the bags away in the near by trash containers and head out to the park. Passing up the slides and the swings we slip quietly into the tangled trees and bushes. The light becomes even more filtered and interesting.

Here we find scattered leaves and tree branches. Intertwined vines, climbing overgrown trees. Tall grasses, weeds and a bit of junk here and there. We follow the foot path for a bit, then step into the overgrowth to pick our way through it, as if we were exploring some foreign jungle.

Occasionally we over turn matted piles of leaves and the essential oils of the earth rise up to hit our noses, we breath this in deeply.

Daniel heads off to the left, I call out to him "don't climb any tree's, cause' I don't want to go and get Dad if you get stuck." He calls back "don't worry, don't worry." In a sarcastic, teasing tone of voice.

Finding myself alone, I turn on the flashlight to help me pick my way through the tilting branches, grown over by morning glory and climbing ivy. I reach out to move a branch out of the way and push gently at first, but find that it is sturdier than I thought so I press against it firmly and it presses firmly back.

I am a bit unsteady as I carefully step over a log on the ground, and hold the tree limb back while I pass. The trees here grow in a circle, and I feel as though I have entered into the middle of a circle of female friends who have linked their arms together.

I sit down here, where the grass and moss combine and lean back on my hands, gazing at the criss cross pattern of tree limbs competing and climbing together towards the sun.

Here I curl up, to breath in the scent of the earth, the smell of new grass mixed with the scent of the old. I close my eyes for a while, dreaming my forest dreams, then hear the birds chasing each other off in the distance.

Their chattering disturbs my solitude so I open my eyes and stretch, yawning. Crouching I turn on my flashlight to discover what I can among the secret places.

Gaps between vines, spaces between the earth and fallen trees, under bushes, and out over the meadow grasses. I feel as though the hidden magical creatures are spying on me, just out of sight and that if I am fast enough I can catch them.

Alas I find sticks and twigs, rocks and dirt, and bits of garbage, which always makes me mad. I snatch a stray plastic bag off of the nearest branch and start picking up garbage furiously, miffed at other peoples thoughtlessness.

After a while I get tired of this and decide to go find my brother. I find him climbing, back and forth between the interspersed trees. He jumps from one tree, and clings to another, having a glorious time.

"Daniel, come on!! Get down!" He ignores me and climbs higher. "Well fine! I am going to go throw this garbage away then I'm going to go walk along the river to catch some water skeeters."

So I head off towards the clearing and I hear Daniel crashing around in the underbrush to catch up. I throw away the garbage, then run, zipping past Daniel on his way to catch me, off to the river.

There I slowly descend the bank, over the rocks and chunks of concrete that someone had decided to throw there. In the dappled light of the river, near the slow moving edges of the riverbank, we find the little skeeters skittering about on their three legs.

Their feet make concentric circles, ever widening and interspersing together as they dash along. We decide to leave them alone today, because we didn't bring a container for them, though we contemplate our empty sandwich baggies for the job. Fortunately for the skeeters we can imagine them being squished in the baggies, so we don't use them and head back up the riverbank again.

The sun had come out so we headed down the asphalt trail by the river towards the underpasses, where the cars and then trains passed, the first underpass being for cars and the second for trains.

The sun soaked asphalt was starting to get hot, so we took off our jackets and swung them around as we walked. We passed up the first underpass for the alluring possibilities that awaited us under the train pass.

First of all it was cool to look up at the tracks from underneath, to see the rail ties all lined up like fence posts. Secondly when we hopped up on the cement barrier, which kept out the river on the other side, we could find black metal filings to play with.

We would take out our magnets and run them through the dirt picking up the filings. Then we gathered them up in our baggies to bring them home. Then we would sit on the cement, because nothing grew in the dirt under the bridge, and we put our feet up in front of us. Laying back to watch for trains, thrilling a little at the idea of a train passing right over us.

After a while, when no train came, we got up. Being chilled from the cool river breezes and dark underpass air, we put our jackets back on and emerged from our dark hideaway. We walked slowly back to where our bikes were parked, letting the sun soak into us, warming us again. Then we hopped on our bikes and slowly peddled home again, feeling free, unburdened from care.

Love

Northern lights, the collision of particles in the ionosphere, are a vision of the ionic elements that dance through all of us.

Watching the hypnotic swirls of green, purple and blue. Is like looking at the enlivened soul. Occasionally orange bursts of light can be seen, sparks of passion in the sky.

Human beings stand in awe of the display, the embodiment of organic emotion felt by those who allow themselves to feel the embrace of the spiritual in their lives.

Heightened senses come from a body well cared for and a spirit as well.

Why are we attracted to those who care, who love with all of their hearts? Because each of us needs to feel that spiritual connection with another.

Love it is light and life, anger and animosity is the darkness that we shrink from. Truly a prayer is a connection with the divine, it has the power to connect people from all over the world. What good does it do? It does a lot.

Think of another, Love one another. When you do you bring life into the world. For each moment that we care that care is felt by others and it heals. That is partially what was so powerful about Jesus, I believe even Gandhi and Mother Theresa shared this type of Love as well.

Imagine someone looking at you with care and concern for you in their eyes. It is healing.

I remember one dark night, I was faltering really bad. I felt so hurt inside, though I didn't want to show it to others. I went to the store and got out of the car. The snow was falling and the air held a biting chill. I was trying to get out of the cold quickly. Then I ran into my old Bishop and his wife. His countenance was bright, he looked like an angel. In his eyes was the love of a deeply caring individual. He asked how I was doing and squeezed my hand with a gentle warmth. He looked deeply into my eyes and he wasn't fooled. Then he said to me "you are special, you are a really special girl, and I am proud of you." These word were so healing to my hurt and broken heart. His sweet wife gave me a hug as well. The air had turned warm from their love. As they got into the car to get home I looked up into the sky with a sigh of contentment and the snow that fell was like a shimmery benediction to the perfect sermon. I really didn't know him that well, but he gave to me a precious gift. When he passed away, I cried sweet tears because I knew he went home to live with the angels in heaven.

That my friends is Love, it is divine. Not everyone cares enough to develop it, I believe that the world would be a far better place if we cultivated such in our own lives.

~Happy Easter

Mature Love

I step outside my door, zipping up my jacket against the chill of the new spring air. Tears sting my eyes and I clear them by gazing far, far out to the mountains. Steady and firm, they will always be there.

As I walk I notice the pine needles strewn on the ground, I duck under the low laying branches and dash around the trash cans blown over by the wind. I am angry!! Why do you make me angry?

Crossing the parking lot over the bridge the dashing of the water, dark in the river bed, it seems to echo my feelings. The long slow whistle of the train in the distance reminds me again of the passage of time, it has always seemed to me as the harbinger of some message, a call to decide, yet now as always the decisions are complicated.

How many times have I run down this trail? How often have I reflected on this? The leaves hold no answer as they dash along the ground, a reminder of the fall. The passage of time is evident all around me, the nests being built, the new spring buds on the branches.

Yet time and time again I am searching for the answer to the question "What should I do?" My eyes follow the cracks in the asphault, distracted by the disturbance, there are many cracks, and deep ruts.

How could I still be in this position? Still stay after all that has happened. Till' death do us part, but that's the simple answer to a complex question. A vow made from ignorant, naive, youthful lips.

Of course it's the kids, of course. Yet as I told you we were through you asked me why? All of the relevant answers, all of the reasons seemed foolish as you told me of your deep love for me. I realised that I loved you then.

I finger my ring, picked out and payed for by a foolish young girl, and still it symbolizes our life together. Complex intertwining, circular symbolism, crowned by beautiful jewels. Are there enough immature diamonds to account for the number of babies I've gained and lost from you.

It symbolizes the solitude that I feel, the weight of our vows, and it is not easy to imagine losing this ring. All this as my feet tread the familiar path, bringing to the surface the hidden valleys of my emotion.

I stumble a bit, where tree roots have pushed their way to the surface and recall a lecture about roots. Roots will stay superficial if given too much water, to get deep roots the tree must experience adversity.

The roots of our relationship are deep. As I walked towards a hesitant groom could I have imagined all that the hesitancy meant? The misunderstandings, the betrayals, the struggles. You have hurt me, you have failed me, I could blame you for so much.

I could blame you, I could banish you to the depths of ignomity for all of the stupid and mean things that you have done to me and our children. Yet I haven't and I have stayed.

Stayed, listening to the train whistle slow and steady during the rainy night.

Stayed, hoping that I am doing the right thing.

Stayed, as you worked through your own demons, elsewhere with your friends, I have stayed alone.

The steady gait of my run winds down, my muscles are tired, my emotions have run out.

As I pass under the steady branches of the pine tree, I look up to the mountains, steady and firm, they will always be there.

Homage to Yard Work

I've had a beautiful day, out digging a border around the garden...

Che, shoosh, scrape, shoosh digging as the sun is shining. Digging though my hand hurts, the endorphins soon take care of that.

Che, shoosh, scrape, shoosh, che, che, che in the dirt to break up a clod and mix in scraps from the kitchen. The smell of citus permeates the air from the orange peels being broken by the shovel.

Move the square board back that I am digging into the ground for a border. Che, shoosh, scrape, shoosh, shoosh as the dirt piles cascade towards the hole that I am creating, gravity's draw never ceasing to work.

I hear my daughter, gathering rocks and see her out of the corner of my eye. Gathering them into a marvelous pile, right in the middle of the garden, I'll chase her out later.

Che, shoosh, scrape, shoosh, I put the board into place and back fill it with the loose clay, when I tamp it down, it's not going to move again. Wryly I think of my dad and helping him with the border around the garden at our old home. Perfectionist, it took forever, with his strings and level.

Che, shoosh, scrape, shoosh, back to work again as the neighbors arrive with their kids who they shoo to their back yard to play, next to ours at the right. Suddenly the chirups of the birds cease and the amusing sound of little boy's discussing, teasing, and playing takes over.

A couple of them stare at me as I am digging and filling. Then they run off and I hear one of them repeating "Will you marry me?" to no one in particular. While the others shout a frustrated "gah!" Aparently he say's that a lot and I think wryly at how well he will be prepared to ask the question when his time comes around.

"I am Spiderman!" says the middle one. The older one decides to answer the random marriage proposals "Nope, yeah, OK, no way!!, where are the flowers?"

I continue with my digging, while Roxie excitedly points out the stray kitties next door. "Kitty!! Kitty!!" She points then chases them, under the rusty old abandoned Jeep near the edge of the other neighbors property.

Che, shoosh, scrape, shoosh, whoops!! My boards look a bit wobbly, perhaps dad with his string wasn't so off after all. So I go back a bit and kick at the boards, trying to get them to move into place, except I hurt my toe so I quit it and ply them up again with the shovel.

Roxie kicks off her shoes and walks though the loose dirt, too bad I need my shoes to dig with the shovel.

I spy the board that caused all the trouble and wiggle it into its hole straighter than before. Then hold it in place with my foot as I back fill the dirt and stomp on it a bit to make it stay.

Che, shoosh, scrape, shoosh, nearly done, then I notice that the last board has a few screws sticking out of the end, it will have to wait for another day. I gather up my tools, then go search for Roxie, up on the rickety wooden stair case of the neighbors.

I glance appreciatively at Johns secluded back yard, what does he do anyway? He's not home much. I know at one point he was a landlord. He has random toilet replacement parts (I gleanned this bit when he was talking about being a land lord). There are bales of hay stacked in his carport, trays for the stray cats (a very motley bunch of cats if I may say so), a little rabbit hutch, a canoe, a bar high up that is good for pull-ups (thinks back to her twirling and hanging on pull-up bar days), tall grasses, assorted trees, actually a backyard straight out of paradise...

I think of the fence that I would like to put up to block off the right side of the yard. There is a parking lot there, then a little fence coming towards our house.
It encloses the little yard to the right but it dosen't block off the openness, not enough privacy. I could hide in the wildness of the abandoned yard next door for a long time.

Of course, fences, take time to put up - they are so much work... well, if I had a fence I could plant a bush. A bush!! Too much work. Sigh, I digress. (What about the chainlink? Nope too much work!! Well I will tackle that later and plant a bush.)

After all of that digging I came in to find my kittens sitting in the window, paying homage to the outdoors, I don't blame them I feel bad really but they haven't had their shots and Stripes isn't neutered yet.

So I drink a glass of water, it tastes so good. Meow at my cat, who is rubbing my leg. Then I go up stairs to lay down as my body releases endorphins, a thanks for the work, and I relax down into my pillows, now soft, not lumpy at all (for the moment)...

Becoming

Out of silence, as we all hush, a cry. Oh beautiful sound a new life is born.

Feel the beat deep down in your soul, the pulsing realness of life, the throbbing of the earth moving through celestial lights. Gaze up into the atmosphere at the blues and reds, the undulating waves of the universe.

Taste the sweetness of fresh viberant food, of strawberries picked from the sun warmed earth. Of an apple just off of the tree. Can you taste it, it is the living energy of the earth.

Dance!! Pulsating beats awakening the spirit in you, the spirit that has been crying out for release. Your body moves, you close your eyes and feel.

Remember the most sincere hug that you have ever recieved, the spirit of another reaching your heart, taking some of the ache away and sharing it as their own.

Remember caring, remember a good cry, remember feeling so angry that you wanted to hit your pillows and bed in frustration, remember laughing until your sides hurt.

All are part of you, as you become.

A little Wisp of Love

Once upon a time there was a little wisp of love that came off of a mother looking at her new born child. This little wisp knew who she was, she had a way of getting into peoples hearts, just when they needed it the most. She travelled in groups, for more often there than alone were people willing to bring her along. She had a collection of hearts that she kept in that seemingly empty space between people. One day she was out looking for those who would accept her. She saw a father helping his son ride a bike and she got into his eye as he watched his little boy petal. She saw a neighbor shoveling snow and she got into the neighbors eye as she found her car clear. She was passed from person to person as a family gathered for dinner and each told of their day. She met others of her kind as she walked down the street with a young mother who greeted her neighbors with a smile. She fought to be heard over the messages of hate that were freely being passed around in a riot, on the TV, in a school when a young boy fell, in a bar when a group of rowdies started a fight, in the people who just thought they were better than everyone else. At those times she retreated into kind hearts and waited until they reached out and found others who held love in their hearts as well.

She was easily hurt, for her heart was not guarded. She sometimes despaired, when she thought too much of negative things. But she was persistent, and some days she found that there was a lot of love that she could smile at and hug and be with. She touched many hearts, and she grew many times. Until she had linked herself with many others who cared and they linked their arms together and flew over the tops of the mountains and all over the world until they had sent enough caring into each heart that people everywhere were healed and people everywhere started to care about themselves and about others. This little wisp had become the air that we all breath, and didn't have to hide anymore.