autumn, again

A season comes and another goes and yet another stretches ahead.

Leaves bud and grow and blaze and drop

and we kick them about as we walk the same trails.  

We're born, we mature, we find our niche, and we fade

 and memories are strewn along the way.

But it is never really only that...

Do we ever get wiser or only have more seasons under our belts 

as  we circle closer to eternity?

spring thaw

 Today... today the sun shone,

the snow piles shrunk and the puddles grew,

aaah... there is a scent of spring.

Tomorrow, tomorrow we expect more snow.

february

Snow flies diagonal past the window.

 Sometimes the spheres above do not look so different from the shapes we see below.

my friend Betty

So dear Betster,  you wanted me to blog again.  

This week you were tucked into your final bed.  We got together to celebrate your life and to mourn your passing. 

You would have enjoyed it.  Lots of folks were there that you had spoken of, people you hadn't seen in years.  They came to pay their respects.  The flowers Bea picked out for you were lovely.  Your dear and faithful brother looked handsome in his suit.  Some of your photographs and your crocheting were on display.  A little bit of you distributed around the room. 

Your friend denH gave a comforting and compelling message. He told us that you had selected the texts 10 years earlier.  "All of us are hampered by our own thorns in our sides but received in Grace".  Yup.  Your dear friend BJ played the organ, just as you wished.  Me, I wore your amber earrings and a bright blue shirt that you would've liked.  I picked up tulips  because that's what I always brought you.  I brought those little Costco brownies that you liked for the coffee social after the internment.

I got my haircut last week.  I couldn't tell you this time.  I didn't hear my cell phone ping at me for months. No more inane little emailed conversations ten times a day.  No more heart to hearts.  No more rants and chuckles.    I watched you fail.  Bit by painful bit.  Legs became useless.    I watched the narcotics take your sharp and witty mind away.  I told you it was okay, that it was all good and that stepping through that final door would be the best thing you ever did.  I wish you could tell me about it.  Now you are dancing in His light.  I wish you could tell me about it.

Instead we watched you be lowered into the ground into a bare spot in the middle of the snow. 

Into the dirt.  

  

I don't think I understood how large a chunk of my heart that you had.  I know that you loved me,

my dear,  four score and one friend.  You told me often enough.  

Your tulips are on my table on the cloth that you made for me.  Dancing in the daylight. 

Tot Morgen Deo Volante dearest Betster.

oriole in the orchard

It is not so easy to find the oriole in our orchard

as he seems rather shy and leery of my lens.

But today, he posed and he sang

in payment for the nectar of the apple blossoms. 

May 14th

I photograph birds, vibrant against blossoms,

I feed the family,  clean the house,  sit on committees,

I do the laundry,  teach the children,  work in the garden.

And I wonder how life can be so good for me
 while it has just shattered for another family.

And how shattered families is commonplace in other countries.
And I simply cannot begin to understand how that feels.
How can such ugliness be? Why must it be?

I hold my  children close and want the peace and beauty to last forever.  
Look into their eyes and see joy.  I wonder what the future holds.
but
There is peace.
There is a Creator, and a Saviour, and a Spirit.
There is hope.
And so I photograph what is beautiful.....
today.

20 degrees

It is warm

and we spend the afternoon watching bees,

gathering sticks to burn, 

making believe we're hobbits,

reading poems about "Spring" fireside, 

and climbing trees.

dog wood

The wind still blows briskly

and the buds seem loath to appear

as April scurries past.

finally

the promise within

silver baubles

Inside the silver baubles

is the promise of tomorrows and new seasons

and new life.

and if one looks carefully,

one's self,

renewed this day, and the next....

waiting

The dreary days seem to stretch on, 

perhaps only because we've been so spoiled before.

But cold and wet and wind sculpts,

and twists and creates splendor.

april

somehow April has appeared,

 out of nowhere..

and roses stand in vases
while snow still swirls outdoors.

unexpected

Pink is not the sort of colour we expect in Indian Summer Days

yet the rose blooms spring like in front of the window 
in innocent defiance of the season.

And I wonder about the seasons in our life, 
these indian summer days of mine

when a wee soul alights beneath my heart for 5 short weeks

and then flits away to eternity and to God 
and to an Oma gone before.

And it is impossible to begrudge the beginnings of a soul

and the departure of a miniscule infant to go to her God

and be spared these seasons down below.

Still dreams began and  budded and blossomed

with thoughts of wee smiles, and dimpled hands. 
And thankfulness overwhelmed- 

that another child of God had been entrusted to me 
in these indian summer days, 

 unexpected.

  

But dreams pass

and tears honour the child 

and painful trust honours the Father.

indian summer

 Indian Summer creeps across the tree tops and into the gardens.

I pick a blaze of orange and place it in the window sill.

Tiny seeds drop in an endless cycle of life into dark earth
awaiting new days.
Tentatively beginning again.

July 11th

She lands softly and drinks her fill,

a rather drab specimen 

until she spreads her wings and becomes glorious.

Spread your wings and fly little butterfly!

evening light

june 24th

Because we have hope we endure,

and a man of seventy plus seven with a empty spot in his heart

and  disease in his body, but peace in his soul

folds his hands in hope

and a young woman alone, with chapters filled,

and a new page turned, professes faith with a full heart

and holds out a child named Hope.

Words of Isaiah echo through the ages,

of one who binds up the brokenhearted

and gives them everlasting joy.

(message by H. Alkema this Sunday morning)

june 22nd 2012