Quenched

Parched, dry, dusty and dying, it appeared
laying my head on my pillow and drifting into a dream.

My senses are awakened by the scent of moist earth
riding on a cool and gentle breeze through my window.

Familiar sounds, distant but remembered.
Little pelts on my roof top.

Tiny drops of an antidote for the affliction plaguing the land.
They call it drought. Earth is now quenched.

It has rained.

Thinking of Autumn

Today feels like an early autumn day. The air is crisp and cool, and there is a quiet steady breeze blowing.

Here is a little something I wrote in my journal last September after lying down in grass soaking up the sun and watching the clouds (one of my favorite pass-times, when I get a chance).

Lying on the ground cushioned by the last of summer’s lush green carpet, I close my eyes.
The sun embraces me with a warm kiss on the face of her beloved child.
Letting out of breath my soul rises up toward the heavens.
From high above, I can see the earth turning golden and red;
Dotted throughout the emerald hills as the pulse of a heartbeat,
Ever changing growing older with each passing season.
I am brought back down out of my dream by the conscoiusness of my senses
As a crisp cool breath is blown upon me.
Autumn is welcoming me with his quiet steady arms.

Dust in the Sun

Ten million little speckles of dust in the sun.
All swirling down from where ever they must come.
Reach out your little hand and touch them in wonder.
What are these floaty things your small mind must ponder.

The simple sweet things of childhood wonder,
Like ten million little speckles of dust in the sun.

What is this amazement a small parade?
Little balloons released for me on this day!
If I could collect them and take them with me,
I’ll show the world how delightful life could be.

The simple sweet things of childhood wonder
Like ten million little speckles of dust in the sun.

I remember as a very young child (2 or 3?), looking at the dust floating in the sunlight. I thought they were balloons, I still remember some of the conversation I had with my mother about them being balloons. I caught my youngest son admiring the dust in the sunlight. His little hand reaching out to touch the mysterious shinny flecks gave me a flashback to my childhood experience with dust in the sun. I wish I would have had my camera handy when it happened because it was so cute. Been hoping to catch him at it again, but no luck. Have any unique childhood memories? Please share.

Good Morning!

I wrote the following poem after seeing a beautiful picture on a tissue box, of all places. I was a little depressed going from a house and 20 acres to an apartment and to add to my feeling of isolation, it was winter. I had a longing to have our own place again. There is a sense of freedom that becomes embedded in your soul when you own the ground you live on and I was missing that freedom. After we finally moved into our new place I cried when I was able to watch the sunrise again, a luxury I took for granted at our old house.

The picture is an old one taken a couple years ago on my way to work. It was fitting for the poem.

I long for a golden morning
When the sunlight reaches out
Across the hills and hollows
To touch our sleepy house

The dew kissed scarlet roses,
The Maple’s emerald hue
And flowers lift their heads
To greet the day anew.

I long for a golden morning
When winter’s icy grasp
Has long since gone away
And grows the lovely grass.

I long to wake beside you
Light streaming through the pane.
The sound of children’s laughter,
Stirring from their sleep, ready to play.

I long for a golden morning
When at last I shall say,
Here’s my golden morning
to start the perfect day.