Peacock shards of light
pierce lacy stretching branches
nature's fibrous frame
Let your soul capture
the blue bird of happiness
alighting therein
Winter passed just days ago and I find myself with fresh views from my bedroom which
faces Clover Creek. Before, an ice storm snapped tree branches, my sweet cat, Molly, could not
find her way back home to me, and then the loss of a dear neighbor and friend. The visages of age are made apparent with a red fiberglass cast on my left arm (more about that in my next post). How did 65 years go by so quickly? March 31, 1947. Like thousands of feet of mini dreams spliced together on a flickering
reel of old film, it continues like the slow locomotive flow of the creek.
I pretend I'm sitting on a cloud, like a child imagining, and ask: Were there still fairies that
disappear in a half wink among the trees? Will there be bands of gold when I reach the sea? And will the heirloom seeds I planted yesterday grow? How to control the fluttering at my collarbone as I see moonbeams reflect on the creek, so different from the phosphorescent light tripping at night.
Sought after dreams are still dreams.
But I take heed of the trees' whispers, as more color spills from the garden by day, new lilacs
and honeysuckle budding, waiting for monarchs and hummingbirds to arrive. The fluffy yolk of the sun forms a bridge to my front door where I will hang a springtime wreath. Quilted jelly jars on the shelf, waiting to be filled with blueberry jam. I hope the hollyhocks bloom a regal red. Spring breathes eternally and faith is restored with buttercream frosting on my cake. Family and friends mark the date with cards and forever smiles. As the creek flows into a lake, it becomes a river which flows to the sea. The mosaiced ocean
calls for me. A misty morning on the boardwalk, pink clouds shaped like ponies on the horizon, gulls
write an opus in the breeze. The eye follows till it reaches the blue midnight air. A new- found,
heightened state of joy and peace is at the heart of me.
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