November

 

November sky
November sky (Photo credit: Grant MacDonald)

 

November

 

The quiet, calm of the early morning hours is precious.  Looking up, through the window, toward the heavens, the sky is gray. It is late November; soon the land will be held captive in the icy grip of winter. Thick clouds blanket the sky, their coverlet, absolute.  Winter is coming; there can be no doubt.  Unexpected patches of white dot through the gray sky, as if someone randomly patched cotton balls into the gauzy, grayed clouds above.  The sky like a paint box, white shades muddied and grayed by the black that mixes through.  Aging November.

 

Still, it is beautiful, even melancholy, in the darkened hours of the morning.  The stillness is comforting; there are no disagreements to voice, no pressing needs to plan around, it is the perfect time to be alone with one’s thoughts, to dream, to plan, and to remember.  When the children were babes, this small slice of morning was coveted time, rising early to prepare for the onslaught of the day, savoring the quiet stillness before the day unfurled.  There was breakfast, daycare, school, work, meetings, groceries to pick up, dinner to make, and homework to oversee.  There were baths and bedtime; there was never enough time. Always wishing for some time to be still. Now there is enough time, the children have grown and life unrolls for them.  One sits in the quiet stillness and wishes for their chaotic return.  Bittersweet November.

 

There is a peaceful calm in the early morning.  The gray clouds begin to lift, patches of light peek through, unwrapping a blue-gray day, an unexpected gift from the universe for you. Something given.  How will you use this gift? Whom will you share it with?  Perhaps, the day will be yours to shape alone.  Beautiful November.

 

The Language of Flowers

rose
rose (Photo credit: aling_)

Hello, darlings; it’s Alice!  Today I wish to remind you of the language of flowers.  It has come to my attention that today’s young haven’t the slightest clue about flower language.  It is time I set one straight.   Firstly, dears, a bouquet of flowers can be made to represent almost any sentiment.  If a flower is offered reversed, its original meaning is contradicted and the opposite is implied.  One must remember this or run the risk of offending a potential suitor or love! For instance if you hand a lovely a bouquet of white carnations you are are indicating disdain for the dear one!  Of course, one never hands a clutch of dead leaves to anyone; that is the symbol for sadness.  A bouquet of Monkshead left at the doorstep sends the message, danger is near!  You will frighten the dear.  Once a rather arrogant suitor had the nerve to leave me a white rose, which stated, I am worthy of you.  No, no, young sir; it’s the other way around! So, be aware, dears!  May I offer a few suggestions?  Always best to choose white lilies (sweetness), red roses (love), pansies ( you are in my thoughts), coloured daisies ( beauty) and rosebuds with moss, which is bespoke for a confession of love.  Now, out you go with your new-found language of flowers and choose wisely for that lovely you have your eye on.

Until we meet again, dears,

Alice

x

I Miss You

I miss you

In the quiet moments of the dawn

In between sips of coffee

When it snows

At a red light

I miss you.

I miss you

When I sit on a windy beach

In the moments before sleep

When I see a boat

or a shell

I miss you.

Look To The Skies

The rain is falling; the woman’s body can sense moisture in the air.  Once a child, the woman would think it odd when her grandmother would comment, I can feel the weather in my bones.  Now she knows this is factual.  Scientists state that creatures, including birds, can sense a storm, as it brews, before it strikes.  True, the woman believes. Pay attention to the birds, Grace.  Look to the skies.

The sky is grey, dove grey. Gossamer threads taut, white fibres stretched through the sky, much like a blanket, the shades subtly mingled and woven. A cozy blanket to comfort the earth.

Red boots on Saturday
Red boots on Saturday (Photo credit: huppypie)

The woman fans the paint chips, November Skies, catches her eye. When it comes to colour, Nature, the masterful painter, always gets it right. Look to the skies. 

This is a red boot day, a functional rain boot day.  The woman senses the boots whispering through the floors of the old house, Come, let’s play.  Once there was a time when new rain boots made the woman smile, peering through the living room window, waiting for rain.  Anticipating the child’s thrill, dipping a foot into water. The puddles to splash!  Look to the skies. 

The rain tumbles down.  The woman wonders, Does the sky shed tears? Perhaps, the universe, heart-broken and melancholy, sobs, when a light goes out on the earth below.  A sorrowful cleanse of sorts, a reminder of loss and despair. A reminder of another’s love, now washed away. Lost to memory, patiently waiting, for the right time for one to open the box.  Open it.  Let the sunlight’s brilliance remind us of all that is beautiful in life, remembering, the rain will pass.  Look to the skies.

Fall Back

Part 2~

The opportunity to fall back in time, to face him, the questions lined up in rapid fire, the judgements already sealed, words tattooed upon the woman’s heart .  Its every pump, sending forth doubt, frantic searches to find the missing puzzle piece, the never-ending search for an answer to the question, Did you love me?  An answer to the why.  There had been time to prepare the words and wonder, the unsettled musing about, the shedding of tears.  Journeying back in time, the woman rediscovered the place where the stars crossed, the point that they had started from.  It became her only way to find inner peace and a desperate sense of belonging.  Journey back to the beginning of the story.  Mine and scrape the mire off of hope, dreams, and love.  This became the quest.

The woman discovered that the story begins with family strength.  Many generations of men and women struggling to raise their families, surviving the cruelest moments that life has a way of tossing out.  Families living with a strong faith, guided by a belief that their God would provide, in time.  Patience.  It started with love; actions such as the scrapped pieces of poetry, carefully cut from the newspapers, glued into a now tattered book, dedicated to the man.  A mother’s enduring love for a son, the words on the page calling forth wishes, expressing sorrow, and hope. Belief and patience.  The unspoken words on the page, the silent messages of a mother’s undying love.

Did the man appreciate how much he was treasured; was the message softly spoken?  The woman wonders if the man knew his value.  Did the man realize the talents he possessed, the ability to see the details, an eye that could create and fix, rendering works of beauty and function?  Did the man realize that he was good enough? Did the man lose his heart?

There was so much the woman could have said; so many questions to ask.  What was the point?  It is what it is.  It is not what should have been.  The woman and the man both know that fact. The woman stepped forth and took the man’s hand.  The touch screaming the words that she could not express, the questions unimportant now. I love you, dad. For that is all that truly matters.

Fall Back

This evening, by midnight, certain regions of  Canada and the world, will complete the annual ritual of turning back the clocks by one hour, an action also known as standard time.  There are positives to this action.  A recent seven-year study in Sweden found that this semi-annual one hour change is linked to a study that shows a decrease in heart attacks and fatalities, perhaps due to body alertness and ability to adjust to light changes.  It is believed that setting the clock back by one hour is easier on the body than setting the clock forward.

http://www.cbc.ca/news/canada/clocks-fall-back-to-end-daylight-time-1.1333086

Imagine being able to find an opening in the universe and like, another Alice, much more famous than my Alice, topple and tumble-down a rabbit hole, to arrive at an event.  A pivotal event in your life, a do over moment.  What would you do over, what would you change, if time gave you this opportunity?

“Waiting. Simply one person doing nothing, over time, while another approached.”
― Ian McEwanAtonement 

Stepping into the quiet, calm night, so still, one can feel the stars sparkle.  Fairies of the night, shining souls, casting their brilliance to the earth below.  It is the midnight hour, an alluring moment of time, where magical happenings are always a possibility.

Darkness layers the night, the ancient evergreens thick and sturdy tall, standing guard to form a fortress of protection, against the darkness of the night. Venturing deeper into their midst, the woman senses the rustle as the boughs adjust, a joining of hands like moment, of solidarity and connection.  You are safe here, their whispered breathes, blowing forth, greet her.  Shelter here.

Leaning against the trunk, the woman presses her cheek against the cool, rough, soft surface. A tattered blanket of moss wraps around, much like a too old child still clinging to a weary blanket.  Some comfort. The woman closes her eyes and falls.  Back in time, tumbling into a garden a bloom, where he is waiting.

~ to be continued

Rainy Day

This morning, I sit in silence, listening to the rain as its steady patter hits the roof.  I imagine the soft water droplets exploding after their harsh landing, scattering into the air and gutters. Free falling.  The coffee is black, strong and hot, just the way that I like it.  The house is still, darkened by the smoke grey clouds blanketing the sky.  Only the light cast from the lamp illuminates the desk where I sit, musing on the morning.  I realize how much I enjoy these quiet, melancholy mornings.

To be honest, I love grey, wet mornings.  There is something beautiful about a universe that lets her world have a good cry of tears, every once in a while. It’s cathartic, as if the universe is saying, Just let go, it is what it is, let it be.  A lovely cleansing of sorts, preparing us for the eventual return of sunshine and clear skies. For when it happens we will be ready to appreciate the bright changes all the more.  Let some light into the darkness.

This is a baking morning.  Quiet, grey, wet mornings  demand an audience; they want to be treated as special guests.  Turn on the oven, the warmth from within fills the kitchen.  Carefully select, mix and stir the ingredients. Savor the cinnamon and vanilla.  Put the darling into the oven.  Blanket it in warmth for a spell.  Delicious goodness awaits.  A simple action that sustains.  Blissful, unhurried moments on a rainy day morning.