Be Kind

There is nothing as beautiful as kindness. Little actions, big shifts. A split second smile. An incidental text. A hand reaching out to take another. Sacrifice.

Kindness is treasure in ruin, found between layers of pause and possibility. Everyone carries one story. Be there. Listen. Let it bring you to your knees. Imagine a Dove, how its tiny heart pounds as wings take flight. Hope rises from ash.

Life is crazy and Butterflies emerge. There is mercy in mess. Mumbled prayers are answered. Whisper, “Hallelujah.”

Be the light home.

There is nothing as beautiful as kindness.

“Be Kind, Be Calm, Be Safe”

-Dr. Bonnie Henry

COVID19, Write, Kindness

“Child. Never say, good bye.”

My Grandmother believed “good bye” was an uttered death knell, a cursed spell, a forgetting.

She said, “See you soon.”

I’ll never forget our last Sunday. The year was 1969. The Maple trees, with leaves the colours of sunset, fenced the property. Wind blew off the lake. I wore a leather mini skirt- the height of fashion. My younger sister wore the vest. In the morning, we’d board a flight which would vault us to the east coast and a new life. Neither of us wanted to leave what was familiar: Sunday dinners and family, friendships and home. I placed one hand upon the door handle and paused. My heart pitched.

“Good bye, Grandma.”

“Child. Never say ‘good bye.’ Say, ‘See you soon.’ ”

People give and then they take away. We live, learning to bear their fingerprints, on our hearts. The most painful good byes are the ones left unexplained.

My grandmother never spoke of ‘The Old Country’ and the home she’d left. No one dared speak of the past while in her presence. It was forbidden. She was a woman who had endured that which is unbearable. With grace, she had learned to look straight on, to not stumble.

I’ve never been too good about ‘good bye.’ Even, ‘see ya,’ sticks to my tongue. I keep those I love forever and leave in silence. I hold to hope. Somewhere down the line, we’ll meet again, we’ll be together.

Beauty surrounds us. It’s a found nest, tossed from the trunk of an old oak. It’s innocence and a lack of sophistication. It’s crocus shoots breaking through frosted hardpan or a child’s scribbled note. It’s a falling star and the crush of rose. It’s kisses and rain, the words of a poet.

It’s simple and magnificent as most true things are.

The succulent, dressed in a paper bag. The discarded nest, a home for moss covered bulbs. Titanium snow and Magenta blossoms. It’s birdsong at dawn and the scribbled note you framed. It’s the hive of memories you keep.

~I See Flowers And Smile

Cross legged on the grass, I watched, as he looked skyward, eyes raised toward heaven. His mind was transcending the here and now. Gone was the hill he’d yet to climb, faded were the saddest memories, their burden heavy, for one caught up in the prime of life. A weight had lifted off his shoulders, dropped at his feet. For a moment, he’d entered a mystical space. 

In that moment, I thought him brave.

TBC

Draft

‘Dream On’

1974

Silence

Sit in silence. Listen as a leaf rustles to the ground. Hear the Goldfinch trill from the sycamore. Feel, as a branch snaps deep within the heart of the forest. Breathe in rhythm with the tides. Again and again and again. This is how you heal.

~Little Miracles

words

If you were a book, I’d slip upon the page

and write you a hymn: To Love

The text, an alchemy of lost, of found

Shed tears and tangled blooms.

 

I’ll write you a boulevard cradled by oak

Swept up in a crescendo storm

In an empty room, beneath an altar of glass,

Captive, we’ll pray.

 

Words dance through pain, tussle with greed, as we swallow shots of shame

To shiver in the reckoning: Love never fails

 

As you gasp, breathless

Upon rumpled hope

I’ll soothe your sleep to dream.

 

In the still of morning, you’ll reach for me

Words beneath the cover.

 

 

~Seraphs’ Blush

Draft