Finally, the relentless wind; 
Became a lover and a friend,
And I enjoyed a deeply spiritual walk last eventide.
And now, my thoughts turn, unschooled, unbidden;
Toward newer ports of call and charts unknown;
My future, hidden.
Yet, serene, I bask, a smile lurks on my face;
As I pursue the turning round the nearing corner.
Cherry, 2010
My disappointment at the late start of my daily walk, was deepened by the frosty wind that stung my nose. The sun had dipped and the temperature was falling. Then I crested the nearest and tallest hill and saw the lights of the city spread out below me, beginning to twinkle. Turning to retrace my steps (it really was time to be getting home), I thoroughly enjoyed an unexpected pink sunset tucked between low clouds and the bastion of red rocks and canyons to the west. I love small joys, they keep me chipper.
And then…..
Walk at dusk,
Snowy owl;
Hooting toward the perch
of friend or mate,
Flew across my path
And lit on small gazebo
Making wide the silhouette of weather vane.
There it sat, cooing softly,
So sounding like a dove it made me look again
Ears feline atop plump body, avian
I know now why deer do that little sideways hop. I did it myself this afternoon in the sun and the snow out along the ridge. What a luxury to be free and out walking in the full sun just before it nodded in the west. The foot of snow we got last week has diminished and receded from the large boulders in sculpted, bevel-edged swoops and hollows; but the crackling fog cloud of this morning built long, sparkling, luxurious crystals on all the remaining snow drifts. Mud is scarce and the snow delightfully squishy and plentiful. My booted feet craved to burrow in the crunchy snow dunes with the same motion used bare in the Pacific beach sands way back in summer. My gloved hands irresistibly, ravenously, reached toward the untouched, minute shards of ice. This is material, tangible, hunger and desire at its best, for its fulfillment is abundant and freely had- a daily gift from the creator. Oh, the delicious out of doors and sunshine!
The rose bush is still blooming.
Three new buds present, unopened on the upper stakes of the vermillion bush. Yesterday I brought a half blown rose to the little vase on my dining table to replace the wilted specimen from last week. I have had fresh roses on my table for two months.
The rose bush that someone landscaped 20 years ago and carefully tended in the small backyard of this rental townhouse is still blooming. I am grateful to that caring person for giving verve and color to the small private space. I acknowledge that no hard freeze has yet struck our neighborhood. I am also aware that the enduring beauty and survival of blooms is partly due to my careful watering, attentiveness and consistent pruning.
May I exercise that same care and stewardship over my own comings and goings so that I bloom far into the winter!
Dear God, show me truth. Show me your will and direction for my life. God, please grant me the power to carry it out rather than the constant worry and striving to make it happen on my own. For my daughter; grant a deep and abiding knowledge of who you are-and are meant to be- for her. Grant that she be always a fulfilled and loved woman, peaceful and wise at heart whether single or in a relationship. For my son; I ask that you grant him an awareness and revelation of truth: who YOU are, God of the Universe, and who he is to be. Give to my son power and strength and wisdom and boldness in the things of the true and living God. For the one estranged, who, because of his raging and insults has become my enemy, I pray for the higher good to master him. I pray he would have truth and beauty and self-awareness. For my grown and settled children, I pray that you would continue to knit them together in a strong cord of love and ethics. Bring out the best in them. You have given each of them marvelous strengths. Burst on them at every turn in beauty, truth, joy, the energy of life and love. And for my friends, my listening ears; I pray your protection on them, that my “viruses” would not attach to their “systems”, but that they would remain whole, beautiful, joyous, successful, and wise. May it be.
And now there are four. Four creative intellectuals, serious about their craft. Real writers taking the ups and downs–and rejections! After all, rejections are tangible proof that we are, indeed, writers!
Originally uploaded by ein feisty Berg
It seems like the older I get (the ages of any two of the other writers approximate mine) the more bridges there are to cross–or are those bridges merely adventures on the way to completion of 10 things I want to do before I die?
Sometimes a day is so excruciatingly beautiful that I can hardly stand it. So lovely and melancholy at the same time that it brings pain or tears. This can happen without warning; in the best of times or the worst of times; whether or not I am stressed, pressed, or have nothing to do. It makes no difference whether I am in a relationship, ending a relationship, tense with teenagers, coworkers or utterly alone, “Sunshine, almost always makes me high,” as John Denver sang; and yes, it can make me cry also.
Do not neglect your gift…. Be diligent in these matters; give yourself wholly to them, so that everyone may see your progress (I Timothy 4:14..15)
Excellent, encouraging, motivating words for this author! My wish for you also, the blog reader: may your path be made plain and direction clear this day!
My novel is at 203 pages! This is great progress. Today I do the third draft.
In the desert town where I grew up and where I am now domiciled; there is an old Indian legend which says that the Native Americans (Ute tribe), as they were being pushed out by white settlers, left a curse that anyone born here might leave; but would always have to return.
Well, here I am, back home again and living a writer’s irony that rivals that of a science fiction author. I have heard repeatedly that good science fiction is like prophecy and tends to come true in the future. I do not write Science Fiction so I presume I am exempt from living my plot, digging my own grave, or pre-engraving my own tombstone.
Good fiction of any nature is often based on fact or experience; so you could say that my narrative came true in the past rather than the future. I think of relational, narrative, fiction as a sort of unknown author’s memoir. Much more is probably true than the reader imagines (only the names have been changed to protect the innocent-or the guilty).
I am now 136 pages into my novel, and I know the final page. The main character hops a plane and moves toward her future in Seattle. My original plan had been to spend these 5 months writing in Seattle. I have always loved Seattle and thought it would be rather quaint to wrap up the plot there. A sudden turn of events rerouted me to the desert. Rerouted me on the heals of scripting the protagonist to say, “I promptly joined the Symphony Guild.”
Guess what I did this morning, gentle reader? I knowingly, intentionally, joined the Symphony Guild – the new and improved, 22 years more experienced, but none the less, same guild that was the model for that chapter of the book. I have been here before, I know the script. Now I see it with the eyes of the next generation. Last week my old friend Charlie commented on this very blog site. Guess whom I had just caricatured and morphed into someone else in the preceding pages?
So explain to me again how I ended up here in déjà vu land?
I WASN’T BORN HERE. I AM NOT UNDER THE CURSE.
