Autumn Light

Kissed by autumn’s softened light

I sit at my desk

Writing, wondering

The moment simple, quiet

Surrounded by words and thoughts

Tucked away memories

A gentle sadness, softened by time

Rustles

As I cast a spell of silence and peace

 

The wind whispers your name

Rock a bye, rock a bye

Siren’s sing you home

Rock a bye, rock a bye

To a land suspended in time

Rock a bye, rock a bye

Hush your weary mind

Rock a bye, rock a bye

Do not fear the journey

The stars, your compass

 

Memories flutter like cranes

Lifted higher upon the wind

Your love is true

Rock a bye, rock a bye

Our souls shall meet again

On the other side of time

Rock a bye, rock a bye

 

 

 

Midnight

You were born beneath an ireful star, launched into a destiny predetermined by a past. So, it is fitting that I wait for your arrival at the darkest hour of night.

In dreams, I am certain you return.

It is winter’s cusp, a time of confusion and crossover. Hail mixes with sunshine. Green shoots wither with frost. A time of sorrows passing and joy’s celebratory re-birth.

I wait on a barren beach, protected by crisscrossed driftwood, tucked in and sheltered from raging winds. Even the gulls have left.

In the distance, the thundering rollers call. Waves tumble and break to slip upon the shore. A heavenly mess, the water’s advance and retreat orchestrated with military precision.

From a safe vantage point, I see only unending swaths of gloom. The sky beyond is thickly brushed with inky, blue-black strokes. My eyes glance up toward the heavens. There waits the moon, full and ripe as a melon. Flickers of starlight sparkle through darkness.

A grey drop cloth of cloud obscures the distance. A split begins to form. Winds rip asunder the gauzy veil. A moon beam illuminates the watery path ahead. In the distance a red rowboat approaches. A man holds an oar.

Slowly, the shroud rises, carried off, held by the beaks of forty-eight diamond doves. Their wings rustle and heave as the curtain rises. You return in peace.

Lost at sea, a drift with one oar, the tides have brought you home. I leave my wind worn shelter and stand at the water’s edge.

Sailing closer to land, you fix your gaze upon mine. The ocean’s song rocks the rowboat with a final push to settle upon sand. My hand reaches out to steady you. Once on solid ground you straighten and pause. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a stone. “This is for you.” You look away and lower your head.

“Thank you,” I reply.

Cool to first touch, the stone becomes warmer; a talisman nestled in my palm. I turn it and note the imperfections, see the flaws beneath a smooth surface. The passage of time has softened its form. The stone is actually glass. Once fragile and abandoned, its story has shaped over time. It ends in the form of a heart.

“Don’t cast it,” you say.

My fingers reach for a stick that rests upon the sand. Words whisper through wind, “This is for you.”

I press letters at the ocean’s edge.

D-I-G-N-I-T-Y

That is all I seek. It is the gift you gave back to me.

 

 

 

 

 

Anchor

You anchor my heart

Weigh it down

Heavy, thumping, stone still

 

Leaving behind a ruffled mind

Sleep eludes me

You steal dreams like a thief

 

Your words rustle round

Encircling, blowsy, gone

Maddening beats, false whispers

 

Left me to evermore wonder

Did you care?

As you kicked me to the ditch

 

Tears

stone angel
stone angel

rainy day
steaming coffee, pelting rain, pinging taps aluminum eaves
veiled in grey, softened light, beauty seen through tears

For Him

For Him

 

Every haunted autumn, Grace recalled a particularly beautiful moment in time. Stepping from the car to behold the glorious splendor of the colorful landscape that surrounded her, she paused to survey the unfolding scene. The sun cast a low light; the shadows ominous, darker, stretched longer, slightly sinister across the manicured lawn. Grace glanced up; a canopy of leaves, resplendent in dresses of crimson, orange, and green covered over the sky, a shelter. Golden beams sparkled and peeked through the limbs of the tree, far-reaching. She recalled it was autumn when he finally left them behind. All is not as it appears.

 

The light exposed a tiny bushy-tailed squirrel. Nimble, fleet feet scurried up, scaled the Maple’s trunk, the scritch scratch barely audible in ascent. Grace willed herself strength; just enough to enter the brick building that loomed ahead. She imagined herself confident, sure- footed, as she navigated through the raw emotions and truths that swirled around inside a frantic mind. For it was true, she loved him and it was truth; he broke a heart. Why didn’t they see each other’s pain? All is not as it appears.

 

Leaves crunched; tiny sticks snapped under slow footsteps. It was the scattered acorns that caught her focus. Their auburn perfection, swollen to a taper, some adorned with matte caps still attached. Grace paused, clutched a handful from the earthen ground and tucked them into her sweater’s woolen pocket. The seeds with their tops in place, she gently wrapped within a soft tissue, and tucked them safely into her purse pocket. Autumn gifts a magical performance; she possessed a talisman of sorts, an agent to ward off the inevitable glances, the forthcoming storm of vicious words; for now she clutched a shield of beauty to front her heart. The door of the institution automatically opened. She stepped inside.

 

He is gone now. Those same acorns remain today, nestled together within a crystal bowl, placed center upon an oak sideboard. They remind her of him, his impossible quest for perfection, his strength mixed up in a fragile, tumbled mind, his broken heart and the shadowed path he chose to walk along.

 

Every autumn Grace recalled that moment in time; memory held the beauty that unfolded into a perfect autumn scene. Now, she imagines him standing beside her. She places the acorns into the palm of his outstretched hand and whispers, “I love you. Always.” A tear brims and slowly rolls down to rest upon his cheek. “Always,” he replies.

 

Autumn’s looming shadow shivers; questions remain unanswered; a heart broken. Still, every season nature repeats the glorious show, adorned in resplendent, golden beauty. Grace smiles. She has come to accept, all is not as it appears.

 

 

To Walk Away

To walk away from where you came from is a frightening action. So much of your being, unbeknownst to you, tied to DNA, blood lines, loyal ancestor’s toils, stories shared, the memories, beautiful and bitter-sweet. The alluring moments linger, testing strength and will. They coax and bind you to your past. The bittersweet ones? The answers you search for, never come. This is your family; your clan, your protective circle.

Grace always knew. The child held the images, the words, locked them away for a time far, far ahead in the future. Imagine. Born into a life, sensing from an early age that life is fresh yet fleeting. She discovered the bluest of eggs, dropped from the arms of the cherry tree, tucked within tufts of grass. She cupped the coveted treasure into a fist, gingerly wrapped the thin membrane within a blanket of tissue. Later, she discovered the shattered bits of shell. Life’s fragile nature, beginning with the innocence of childhood; the necessary lessons we all must learn.

Long ago, Grace began the process of learning to leave. An eye on the future, a foot firmly planted in the past, a tender child’s heart tied to tattered scraps of love, bits of hope. The remnants of a wish. What did she wish for? Simply love. Enduring love.

 

 

Memories

Breathe. Just breathe; this will pass. That shivery sensation again, secreted memories unwrapped, tangled over her heart. Left shaken, emotionally disheveled, abandoned and dismissed.

Memories, elusive, dark, stealthy fairies, suddenly pop up, resurfacing on a whim. Beguiling tricksters snag a heart off guard. Thump, thump– stomping glee filled feet as they encircle.

“You didn’t matter,” they screech.

Imagine a perfect day, diamond lit skies, kitten white clouds and joyous moments suddenly met with gloomy storm. You wonder why these demons surface? You’re just stopped at a red light, an ordinary moment in life.

Love’s betrayal is their life- blood, their sustenance. Waiting in a ruby jewel box, carefully wrapped within life’s layers, to suddenly emerge kicking, thumping, merciless.

“You are weak,” she screams.

The cowards scamper away. They have left her alone to find beauty in another day. There will be another day; she will find it glorious, waiting not yet discovered. Beautiful moments: Look there in a child’s precious smile, see the late summer bloom of the single last rose, be in the quiet silence of reflection.

There is a purposeful plan. This is her given life complete with struggles and overwhelming joys; the path she is placed on. There is intentional strength and courage at her core. She learned compassion.

“You will never rule,” she shouts to the blustering wind.

These brave words, carried forth on a gust, travel far and wide until coming to rest upon a doorstep. Truth.