Sorting

I’m sorting through the madness I call mind
On my way to rediscover life refined
I won’t stop at all the sites
Just the happy, hopeful bytes
I am grateful for the people who are kind

I am sorting through the madness of my mail
To eliminate those things that truly fail
No more ads and sticky spam
Just the stuff that says, ‘I am’
A lucky girl with many chances to prevail

I am sorting through the box of my feelings
Looking forward to the rush of blissful healings
As each feeling finds some grace
There’s a smile upon my face
As I realize that life solves all misdealings

Little Lives

I’ve long held a passion for the creatures called seahorses. Until I touched one and looked “him” directly in the eye, I knew nothing. In that very instant I knew the meaning of the universe: to give and be given to.

Several years ago I was walking along a shore at the Outer Banks of North Carolina. It was a blustery March day and I walked facing the sun to feel warmth upon my face. In the water lay a smallish dark green lump I thought to be seaweed. I removed a glove and scooped up what was a six inch seahorse! He was so still, I thought at first it was dead.

It lay there, and then a tiny contraction in the tail caught my attention quickly. I soon realized the water in my hand was almost gone and the seahorse was looking for more water; its home after all. I spoke aloud, “Are you alive?” As if to answer, “Yes,” it raised its head, which looked just like that of a great steed, and looked directly into my eyes. I could see the soul of the tiny creature as the last couple of drops of water approached its nostrils. I had to act quickly.

Into the ocean I waded some ten feet, water up around my thighs. Gently I placed the tiny seahorse into the area before the tide approached. I hoped this would give it a chance to survive, without being dragged back in by the undertow; the same undertow I was beginning to feel at my ankles. The tail kicked and off it went. I turned to wade out, so elated by the look on that tiny face. Such trust and love that emanated; I cannot explain it. In the moment I was so glad it would not be part of my beach treasure, but would continue living. It wanted to live.

Another thirty or so feet down the shore, and I came upon many seahorses that had already died, and were stiff upon the sand. A lady was collecting them as decorations for her shop artistry. My heart jumped to my throat, but she explained that it was “their season” to come and die upon the beach. She handed me one about 2.5 inches long, nowhere near the size of the one I’d just returned to the ocean, yet the same form and color as the other. That “light” was gone from the eyes; this one having come in and embraced the season.

Today I look at the eyes of little lives; they tell me a lot about myself.
I want to live.

The Roundabout

Thank you: Elizabeth Evans for the photo use.

A photo that brought back instantaneous memories of sheer joy and treasured squeals! Many times my friends and I would make the trip down to the park to ride the roundabout. “Please hold on to the bar.”

Usually an adult would get us started. We’d whirl ‘round and ’round, and it was no surprise if one of us got sick. Often it was that one of the Moms would grab some cool water from the fountain to place on a forehead to stop nausea. “Someone stop my stomach from moving too.”

Today I ride by abandoned playgrounds where the equipment was painted with lead paint. No one wants to spend the money to tear them down, but no one wants to offer anything new either. I shudder to think how much lead did I absorb from the favorite, and often visited roundabout? Yet the memories, the laughter, and the friends make it seem so far a way, and less worrisome.

Today I called the city to see what a new roundabout might cost. Thinking it might be nice to give something back that was so simple, so endearing, and so much fun. Would you believe the bureaucratic tape costs more than the roundabout? Then there are the maintenance clause costs, the taxes, the inspections, and so on. Whose getting a ride?

Happy Nuts-ster?

Just think about it.

Are we done yet?
Have those silly rabbits left?
Can we please have a squirrel day?
Like a ‘Happy Nuts-ster” day?

No, this doesn’t rhyme. It’s not meant to rhyme.
I’m serious though! We could hide nuts.
Lots of children eat nuts.
If they can’t find them, well, we squirrels would help do our part.
We would take care of the environment.
No nuts shall be left behind.

Besides it’s not like leaving a boiled egg for a year.
You might grow a nut tree or a nut bush.
Just think about it.
Meanwhile, Happy Nuts-ster!

In regal beauty... the red Gerber bathes

An awe-inspiring flower did touch my heart one day
And though its beauty yielded radiance, I had no words to say.
I watched the petals form and fan in no short span of time.
While gradually I felt its power that swayed this regal rhyme.

A sprinkling of the rain fell softly and hung.
Round beads as golden glass on the petals they clung.
My eyes filled with wonder and small human tears.
This beauty before me was tender and dear.

A bath from on high caused the glistening and shine.
It prompted my memory to also be thine.
Put all of my trust in the lord of the lathe.
And seek my own duty… as the red Gerber… bathes.