I would, if I could, eat soup everyday especially now when uncertainty has my stomach twisted, tied in knots it’s comfort food, yes soup will do, it’s my go to, when I am blue, a simple broth, potatoes, beans, rice or noodles, something green, spinach, kale seasoned well, hot steaming, slurpilicious, can you tell, that soup will do when I’m distressed, better than my first instinct, clearly under great duress, to grab for something salty, sweet, too much of a good thing until I’m stuffed, uncomfortable, just ill I should have had some soup instead but worry makes me lose my head and so I cook a lot these days, soup, of course, for times like these
look to tomorrow for new possibilities when today feels lost
~kat
Today was one of those days that did not go as planned. We never saw the plot twist coming. As disappointing as it was and still is, as we try to make sense of things while adjusting our future plans, I’m reminded that expectations rarely guarantee success or satisfaction. In fact, hanging one’s hope on expectations is a vicarious way to move through life. It’s a recipe for disappointment. There are no guarantees in this life, and generally, there is no straight path from “A” to “B”.
But occasionally there are glimmers of
hope to be found on the detours. Sometimes we may find ourselves in a better place without exerting him. It it wise to practice flexibility and open to the possibilities that plot twists can bring.
Go gently my friends and remember, tomorrow is another day!
I didn’t realize in autumn when the leaves of summer were dancing on the wind, that this would be her last fall and winter, her limbs left exposed to bear the bitter cold, I wonder now if she had already left before the first frost, for I had only known her a few years, when her once lush raiment had already thinned… I never rested in her shade on hot, sunny summer days never saw her in full bloom, memories of nested fledglings taking first flights, learning to bend with the fiercest of tempests were things I could only imagine, her bones exposed now against a beautiful sea of green, even now the crows and mourning doves perch on her brittle limbs surveying the landscape and me… how is it possible to miss someone you never truly knew, and yet I do how I wish I had known you old tree, in the spring…
~kat
Another bittersweet day. We need to call a tree service to take this ash tree down. Her fragile condition threatens our vehicles and home should a strong wind overtake her. I’ve watched her slow decline since we moved here a few years ago. I knew it was just a matter of time. But I was not ready for it to be this year. She was a special tree. Recently I noticed this heart-shape hollowed out in the bark on her trunk…a parting goodbye I imagine and a gentle acknowledgement of my admiration for her. It’s as if she showed me her heart.
I am learning as I age the art of letting go…and I am grateful for the grace of these lessons. I think it may actually be a blessing. When my time comes I hope to slip away as gently as my friend, the ash tree.
fresh from disaster recovery underway voices pierce the wind the air feels strange, heavy death stopped by to fetch a soul
dining at dusk
fat-bellied does flock grazing, with yearlings in tow spring fawns on the way
~kat
Two poems today. It was a strange evening after i signed off from work. My dog Gabby naps next to me most of the day, but the sound of my laptop shutting can rouse her from the deepest sleep. She knows it’s time for a walk around the property. I feed the crows. A few peanuts, toss a bucket full of feed corn to the deer and turkeys, and then tend the various feeders. Tonight was not routine. There were emergency vehicles on the road not far from my driveway. We live on a curve in the road. Someone likely took the curve woo quickly and rolled their car in a nearby pasture. There was an ambulance but no urgency. It is very likely that the passenger(s) did not survive. When death comes near, the air changes; at least for me it does. Such a sad end to the day.
And then came the birds and the deer to partake of the snacks I had left for them. The deer seemed particularly joyful. Running around, the young ones playing with each other. The doe are growing fat around the middle. Fawn season is a month or less away. I watched them for several minutes and picture them here. Seeing them was just what I needed…a reminder that life goes on, even in the aftermath of death. A glimmer…🥰
It’s not everyday that the extremes of life and death hover so closely. But it helped me to realize how important it is to find balance between the extremes. Let’s meet in the middle, shall we?!
even if I wanted to forget they would remind me rhythmic purrs growing loud, louder under my bed tiny toe pads tapping my arm a stealth attack, razor sharp teeth penetrating the blanket and my feet…OUCH! recoiling, my body contracting into a fetal position, please go away but they are relentless, my brood, a diva dog, two white cat tyrants and a Schrödinger cat, jet black, who travels incognito through life… even when he’s not there, it’s safe to assume he is…there…somewhere all this because it’s morning time to take the pup out for the two p’s, time, good god mom! for breakfast… time to get my opposable thumbs moving… you don’t want us starving (you’ve heard of the old lady with a house full of cats that ate her face when she died…don’t tempt us!) no rest for the weary, breakfast is served just in time to watch the sun rise… another day, another morning… work, feed the brood, sleep, repeat
~kat
Oh, I protest…but I wouldn’t change a thing. I love living with wild souls in my home. Inside and outside I am surrounded by pure, beating hearts, some who depend on me entirely for their survival. And for my servitude they reward me with unconditional love and devotion. Today’s poem and glimmer are one in the same. The imp above is our kitty, Frankie. She’s very demanding but also very affectionate. She and her furry, feathered and scaled siblings give me a reason to get up each morning. how wonderful is that?! 🥰
Ordinary rituals We do rituals all the time even if we don’t recognize them. We gather for things like birthday parties, baby showers, bachelorette parties, funerals, etc. Even these small mindfulness practices are a kind of ritual. For today’s draft, think of a traditional or habitual activity and write a poem about it. / Recommended reading: “Blessing the Baby” by Diannely Antigua
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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