Like a secret garden revealed while searching beneath overgrowth Like a song hummed under dialogue in a yet unscripted movie,. Like a heart’s whisper in the silence of an empty room behind an unlocked door.
Liminal Time Is . . .
Tag: 2023
Lament: 20/23/28
Bitter chocolate on the tongue, surrounded by shared choices, I hug our lost times, by myself.
Old Age – Summer Solstice
The longest day of the year;: now it gets darker slowly, as light fades.
Beauty’s Pleasures
June lushly blossoms forth trailing sweet smells along my path. The lake ripples above now sun-revealed rocks Beside my path. To accept beauty’s pleasures despite pain and ugliness honours my path.
Difficulties
My contradictions engulf
my secret spaces
sliding me spiral-wise into
darkness.
Sunlit hiddenness.
Forced growth.
Splintered stems.
Exposed roots.
Is there any time
beyond waiting?
Can composted years
be infertile?
Learning Pause and Patience
Life’s hard trips,
(battered knees from speeding,
and missed loves
from masked blindnesses,)
suggest I slow down,
and open my curtains.
Hard to learn
new rhythms
and how to speak
from nightsight.
Life’s strange trajectory
offers wonders and tragedies,
grace moments and opportunities,
and asks me
if I have time
to stay alive.
Dawn
Curtains open, a band of rosy yellow bleeds upwards behind dark firs into a pale sky: another day of grace. My mottled, age-altering skin and sinews carry my history, ride under my costumes and in my gestures - displaying old stories. My feet carry me along the earth, my home, while my hands and heart still seek.
Spring Grief
“April is the cruelest month” - T S Eliot Green mist rubbing raw branches, sap pulsing demands, taunting winds pushing unavoidable changes. Absent again. the old path blocked, obscured, closing off. Blossoms mocking this waiting time. What new fruit will grow now?
Describing Grief
Walking through the grounds of the demolished building I wonder how to describe grief. There’s the sudden voice wobbles, of course, and the repeated resentments of accusations that I’m doing so well. as though sleeping, eating, and keeping the house going deserves some special commendation. Sometimes I wonder if maybe it shows me being unfeeling, not caring. I wonder how grief behaves: the irrational refusals and avoidances; not wanting company, or to be alone; resenting the new tasks. So download another distraction, wonder again who I am now, and what I might want not to do or, maybe, choose to do.
Widowhood
The sharp chill of a cold spring day as Good Friday reigns over Easter.
Learning Living 