when someone says, it doesn’t matter it’s not necessarily an obstinate self-defeating, depreciating, or rude thing to say it can be liberating when one knows what matters is recognizing what doesn’t... the worrying, second-guessing, soul-crushing defeatism that happens when we try to fit in, be accepted, follow the rules, play the game be noticed… in fact, not mattering, where invisibility is a gift, anonymity, sublime is where what matters most, breathing loving being happens... the rest is an illusion, smoke and mirrors, the sum of a life wasted
I’m actually in a good place…where nothing matters but the things that do. With age comes wisdom and a general “I don’t give a fuck” attitude! When life gets shorter, you realize life is too short! It is glorious place to be!!! Oh my… did I just say/write fuck?!!! Well I don’t give a “you know what”! 🤪
how odd it feels this dark drear night as sheets of rain and milky fog obscure my sight while puddles swell earth waterlogged from outer bands that sweep the sky a monster with a single eye, a tempest wielding misery over a thousand miles, its bitter tears from too warm seas brings half a nation to its knees odd, i think, to taste the rain that's caused such pain to neighbors i will never meet terribly connected, we, and yet so far, so very far away
This poem was birthed in the foothills of Bramlette Mountain at dusk on the 30th of September 2022 as the outer bands of Hurricane Ian bent the pines and drenched the loam while simultaneously making landfall several states away on the South Carolina coast. We humans truly are a wrinkle, a mere blip on the vast landscape of this earth. Who are we to boast of anything at all when a raindrop can render us small?
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
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
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