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Aha! There you are!
Those transitioning from wherever to there,
those who don't know why they're here
but know that they must be!
Those who are ready to witness
the change of seasons with word unity,
verses to praise the way life is in motion!
Let an ocean of words spill on this page!
Welcome to all poets and word slingers!
You have entered the Transition Jam stage!
Butterfly fluttered
by a summer garden bud.
A bee buzzed, dipped into
the nectar, sucked the sweet
summer treat. Two squirrels
scurried to collect twigs;
necessities for an autumn
nest. The last days of summer
are often the best.
`Do you know, I was so angry, Kitty,' Alice went on...`when I saw all the mischief you had been doing, I was very nearly opening the window, and putting you out into the snow! And you'd have deserved it, you
little mischievous darling!
~Lewis Carroll
Ahhhhh and so Lucy arrives,
with lovely verse and love and smiles,
her wide-eyed wonder blesses us,
and we, so grateful she has
decided to invest some time
with the rest of us!
[great to see you girl! how the heck ARE ya?]
missed you! hugs!!!
How are you?! I see you are as beautiful and creative as ever!
Me?
Ah, time has made a fool of me,
as love has bruised my heart.
Too much has happened, but the one thing I can say is that with every damaging obstacle, I have emerged a stronger and more determined person. If we learn from what is meant to break us, we learn the true depth of our strength.
The road to happiness: Perseverance, Endurance and a whole lot of Hope.
In spring,
we sing songs
of new life, watch
wildflowers blossom,
talk of adventurous
journeys, walk paths
hand in hand, a nod
to agree, worshipping
the free gift of energy!
In summer,
we hum tunes on
the porch swing, humidity
weeping from the greenhouse
windows, our brows wet
with sweat. We eat fresh
mangos, watermelon,
grapes, take our time
with each breath.
We go inside, careful
not to let the screen
door slam, sleep semi-naked
on the back porch, savoring
the cool night's breeze.
In autumn, we rake leaves,
meditate how each could have
dropped so quick, individually,
to make such a huge pile, our
cheeks red from a brisk wind.
We reap the harvest we planted
two seasons before, have family
feasts, wondering why seasons
fly by. We watch flocks of geese
soar south, take heed by turning
up our coat collars.
In winter, our hair as white
as the snow outside our window,
our shovel now full, trying to dig
a two-foot deep path to the mailbox,
expecting news from Aunt Deb and
maybe a break in the heating bill.
We sit by the fire, warm our feet,
read poetry by candlelight, seal
doors and windows tight to drafts,
wrap ourselves in thick woolen
blankets, thankful for spring which
we know will come.
Yes, spring, we know will come.
It will come again.
It is the cycles of seasons that fulfill,
it is the change that we are sure will
continue, the only sure thing.
It is what we count on _
the new birth, the sweat, the fallen
tapestry, the wintering, the chill,
and then the repeat, the complete
circle, the cycle again begins.
