|Dogwoods in Yosemite in front of stone house.|
Each day's different, every day's new...
This part of the good morning welcome song for preschool has become almost a mantra for me since the stirring of a pot of potpourri called my life a couple years ago. Yesterday, I wouldn't have dreamed that I would be sitting today on my porch, cool breeze blowing up, the smell of apricot cobbler wafting out from inside, spitting cherry seeds off the rail while my colorful laundry waves gently in the breeze spending time writing. Just writing.
Yesterday I had a full work day scheduled, no cherries & no apricots & dirty laundry. Apparently I do my job well. My morning cleaning cancelled for this week because the house is still pretty clean! That's with 2 of 4 children out of the house. That cleared my morning. My friend Ruth gave me baking apricots when I cleaned for her yesterday & cherries were on sale at the market on the way home. As for laundry...well, as long as I was here, I washed it!
Funny how simple things that seem unimpressive can bring joy in the right circumstances. Coming out of a terrifying situation as I have this past couple years has brought new insight. A dog insistently barking now while I try to peacefully write causes me to smile and be grateful for the experience. Doing my laundry with it's bright colors & hanging it out on the line is a joy now, not a chore.
|Rose in the light of the solar eclipse|
|Campfire of justice|
This next poem was spewed out of my soul after my appeal encounter with the EDD judge (unemployment). It was a powerful experience that affected us both and I am sure that someone much more powerful than either of us was in charge. The judge who would not make eye contact (how can you do that job if you do?) had tears in her eyes when I left. All who are going through what I am experiencing were present in spirit and justice reigned. I felt it, felt it deep within...
The Beast is Us All 6/7/12 After the cataclysmic deluge of EDD’s interrogation.
Vengance she sought as I entered the room
Not from me, just as it takes to the moon
Shimmering, shaking heartache breaking
She flew at my heart, pecked at my soul
She could not know from where I came
Hit the sore spots just the same
All who matter welled up inside
“here’s who I am…me!” I cried
“you with your anger, can’t touch my soul
I am ME, I am whole!”
Offering myself to that which sought blood
Laying it out, myself, a dove
Pick breaking ice, the damage was done
Not for myself, for all of us… done
CRACK, smack, the dice rolled off
Hit the floor & the beast fell back
Tears brought forth in the angry ones eyes
Said all that she couldn’t
I was hers, she was mine
Weeping a marshy meadow, sweet, sublime
See the love, feel the pain
We all are in it… alone just the same
Lay it out, put it forth
The beast is us all, no less & no more
|Oswald Family Reunion. Kiss on cheek from NanO's Grandpuppy|
Working through striving for balance between what must be done (putting up barriers from deer & gophers, building beds etc) to carry on and what is needed for the soul to refresh & push through inspired this poem to pour forth. The need to place my hands in soil, grow things, but not just anything...
This massive destruction…of the soul
The will, want, need for a wild something to grow
Cultivating, propagating never- except briefly ~ satiating
Longing to know,
pining to grow,
something… wild ~
like my soul
Soul on fire crystal mire
Needing something wild…to grow
Widows web yanking the heart, seeding heart
Taking heart, the bleeding heart
Wanting to know,
Craving to grow,
Pleading from the river
“can you show? Do you know?
Who I am? Where do I go?”
On my face on the earth groveling
“help me grow,
something… wild ~
Just a dream, hallucination…of the clouds
Eyes open, colors flashing, heavens open
Taming it down, nothing but crowds
Keep me close, help me to grow
Needing to grow
A dandelion…just wish ~ & blow
This Farmer at Heart harvested the first garlic crop. Given a couple years of perfecting, it will be beautiful with large heads & cloves, pungent, but not over bearing. I will borrow a bit from my dear friend & mentor Scarlett O'hara and say "As God is my witness" I'll never leave my garlic crop again! I will share it though!
Now I sit EATING apricot cobbler with vanilla ice-cream on the porch, just writing, colorful clothes... Who knew? Oh well, time to go to the Oakhurst job. It's been nice. Really nice. This particular day was nice from waking on.