there’s a nip in the air cricket-song muted and the random trill of winter birds breaks the din, “i am still here”, they seem to say, my senses come to life this time of year, not in springtime, nor summer, certainly not in sleepy winter, but autumn, when sunlight through the trees bends into shades of gold, chartreuse and amber, warm on my full face my skin tingling cool, when the loam prepares her nest to welcome home leaves set free on the wind, when the calendar meanders slowly toward year’s end urging me to loose my own burdens for a brief spell, survival, loss, longing, to embrace moments of joy, peace, contentment, love, to breathe… to bake bread for breaking to make soup for sharing, to don sweaters and socks, to tuck my feet into the crook of an oversized chair, while sipping tea with honey as the days grow shorter, and the gloaming blooms vibrant streams of crimson, “i am still here”, i muse, “i am still here”
take care, what you wish for little tree; don’t rush to blush amidst midsummer’s balmy haze, for summer comes but once a season; take your cue from elder trees, their lavish manes of sparkling emerald, chartreuse and sage, wisdom comes from weathering life’s cycles, grace and age, and autumn, with her cool dawn snap will be here soon enough you’ll see; so entertain the breeze and dance, while dusk holds back the shade of night, your dreams will keep, they’re never late, but lie in wait until the time is right…oh little tree stay green, let your sprouting limbs grow strong stretch your roots into the loam that holds the memories of home in just a blink your innocence will be laid bare, as winter’s snow becomes your hair, the night will wrap you tight and long and you will wonder where time’s gone, and think about the summers passed, while drifting off to sleep
even the tiniest of souls, when they leave a space, may impart a void so deep and wide; though we may try to fill it with memories, stories long forgotten that manifest, consuming our thoughts, spilling out like balm to comfort us in the emptiness, that strange hush of one less heartbeat, one less breath, one less voice to fill the hollow air surrounding us, even the tiniest of souls, once having touched our hearts, never cease moving us, though their physical presence may dim, never to return, it is then we realize that they will never truly be gone, because they became a part of us, oh so very long ago, and the emptiness we feel is our own heart skipping a beat, adjusting to the shift that fondness of heart, and great love in absentia, knows so well, the bitter and the sweet
~kat
Taking a moment to wrap myself in grief over the loss of our very senior 21 year old gentleman cat, Merlin…may he rest in peace. Merlin 2001-2022
i have been lulled by the serene, by cloud dappled cerulean, and green by the scent of honeysuckle, fresh cut blades of grass, by rose petals stretched open wide, drenched in dew by birdsong at dawn, crickets and peepers at dusk, the sun and the moon chasing each other day to night, the stars granting wishes before fading from sight…she is a beguiling mistress, nature, it’s easy to forget she has a dark side; a cycle of life, daunting for those low on the food chain… usually efficient, she sends the buzzards to remove remnants of untimely death from the forest floor usually, but not today as i happened upon a tiny shank of fresh meat, fur still clinging to exposed bone, undeniably of rabbit, nestled in pressed down clover, beautiful green, the sun shining, a soft, fragrant breeze rustling the leaves and all i could think was how grateful i was not to have witnessed the brutal carnage that happened here under the trees, my heart breaking for that poor creature, emotions flooding my soul, heart breaking for all manner of suffering as the world grows darker by the day remnants of untimely carnage left in the open forcing us to see, no longer kept hidden behind closed doors or in the shadows, life is not all rainbows and butterflies and there are not enough buzzards, what magnificent creatures they are, to sweep away the bloody mess we’ve made of things, not nearly enough
~kat
As luck would have it, it was raining when i recorded this melancholy poem… or maybe it has nothing to do with luck. 😉
As requested by my dear friend Peter, i give you the recited version of yesterday’s poem. It took me a dozen or so takes, not that I’m a perfectionist, but to successfully get through from beginning to end without a hiccup, tongue-twist, mangled word, or brain freeze. And I might add, the quietest place in my world is outside. This bright sunny morning, you will hear that I competed for air time with a field of lusty cicadas. Welcome to my world! I hope you like it.
And Peter, I could not live with myself if I were the reason you were losing sleep! Rest well my friend and thank you for tapping on this old turtle’s shell and inviting me to come out!
…and here is the text in case you’d like to follow along…
what matters
it matters not when life begins or ends; it is the in between the crooked path, the highs, the lows as most lives go, pendulums swing and we obsess in the extremes but that’s not where the rubber hits the road, i’m told, steady as she goes, the wise have said, don’t lose your head, don’t sweat the insignificant, but who’s to say what matters most at end of day if truth be told, if truth exists the rights, the wrongs the reasons why we fight and fret and lean toward right or left, it is the middle, we forget, where time is present, neither here nor there, where god, if god exists, is love, is everywhere, where grace flows freely, despite who, what, why, or where you’ve been, can we just close our eyes, pretend it matters not the second life begins or ends, it is, as it has always been, the in between
So it is easier for you to find all the parts/chapters of my ongoing fiction series, I created a new page that lists all the links. You can check it out HERE!
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like mercury colliding... 