Not Home for the Holidays

My daughter and I will be in the mountains of North Carolina for the Holidays.

To my faithful readers near and far (all three of you), Happy Holidays and a Blessed New Year!

xoxo

For Life

The geese of winter
land on the lake.
Silver wings stretched
they break the glassy
surface of the water
and float together
in the morning mist.
Bound for life
they wait for spring
through frost and
winter’s pale moon.
Black necks curved
in grey-feathered sleep.
Rest now, for soon
the journey home.

Fall

On the edge
looking down,
it seems so far to fall
take a deep breath
close your eyes
spread your wings and fly
fly to hope,
tomorrow’s child
waiting on the sun to rise
waiting on a future moon
life will not wait for you

Sand Castle

The sea

has finally washed

away

my carefully constructed

sandcastle,

washed

away

the form of

my

identity,

leaving only infinite

grains of sand

along

a scattered beach.

-unknown author

For BCP

I had a dream last night. I was on a dark beach with you. But you were much younger than you are now, you seemed to be around 6 years old. Your hand felt very small in mine.

There were storm clouds and lightening rolling over head. The wind was warm and fierce. But we stood there and faced the wind blowing our hair back, our jackets flapping. At the edge of the surf, our toes met the lip of foam, growing ever closer to covering our feet, sucking the sand out from under as it retreated.

Overhead, the storm charged the air and lightening descending in crooked arcs aross the black sky, bouncing through menacing clouds, briefly lighting them with bursts of purest white.

We were facing it - head on - knowing that sometimes things are so much more beautiful after the storm has passed, we waited together.

Walt Whitman's poem is about a father and daughter, but it sounds like we had the same dream.
We will make it through. I love you!


On The Beach At Night, by Walt Whitman

On the beach, at night,
Stands a child,
with her father,
Watching the east,
the autumn sky.

Up through the darkness,
While ravening clouds,
the burial clouds,
in black masses spreading,
Lower, sullen and fast, athwart and down the sky,
Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east,
Ascends, large and calm, the lord-star Jupiter;
And nigh at hand, only a very little above,
Swim the delicate brothers,
the Pleiades.

From the beach, the child,
holding the hand of her father,
Those burial-clouds that lower, victorious,
soon to devour all,
Watching, silently weeps.
Weep not, child,
Weep not, my darling,
With these kisses let me remove your tears;

The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious,
They shall not long possess the sky--shall devour the stars only inapparition:
Jupiter shall emerge--be patient--watch again another night--
the Pleiades shall emerge,
They are immortal--all those stars, both silvery and golden, shall shine out again,
The great stars and the little ones shall shine out again--they endure;
The vast immortal suns, and the long-enduring pensive moons, shall again shine.
Then, dearest child, mournest thou only for Jupiter?
Considerest thou alone the burial of the stars?

Something there is,
Something there is more immortal even than the stars,
(Many the burials, many the days and nights, passing away,)
Something that shall endure longer even than lustrous Jupiter,
Longer than sun, or any revolving satellite,
Or the radiant brothers, the Pleiades