Fly, fly said the mother listing, fluttering giving everything she had One day, the wind at her back off she flew. Soaring slowly at first finding her way nature as her compass happily living her life. Sensed danger things not right fearful, fragile and unknowing the worst was yet to come. It happened. off guard unguarded guardedly not knowing where to turn. Oh, a gathering of love. Unable to receive, hawk talons mighty like prison bars. The sky turned ever so slowly the mist overhead the cardinal was able to catch a breath. Fly, fly said the mother listing, fluttering giving everything she had she is flying again taking on new terrain. A bit tentative a bit wiser, wanting to return however realizing it is to a new world.
Three takes Three weeks Three sisters Three geographical locations Three beautiful bouquets Three days of family stories Three delicious prepared-by-other dinner delights Three sweater give-aways Three prayers Three cheers for love An abundance of appreciation
Who is he? What does he know? Henry Wadsworth Longfellow? While habits unfamiliar, we find our way Each day different, “one day at a time”, we say. like the crystals in a kaleidoscope, one turn and the reaction unfolds. Silence from others, busily living as the world turns we carry on In case you were wondering, he is sweet and tender as always, during this complicated time.
Copper garment, “Orange is the new black.” “Absolutely retro, yet undeniably modern.” “Is it a tunic or sweater?” Symbol of life change. Simple style while coping with the complicated. Vintage yarn at hand, modern technique repairing life lines. Busy constructing, resting to heal Strong statement, rebuilding strength. The tiger lilies recently transplanted in a courtyard otherwise unruffled from one garden to another. Today, to my surprise blooms of copper, in a sea of green just two of them . . . for now to welcome my best friend home. Thank you to my dear knitting friend, Gina for the rooted cuttings and whose constant and continual support helps me to go on and for Sarah, a blog writer whose words were of inspiration to me. I cannot forget Denise and Terry who are constants in the VK Challenge. Copper garment details, HERE.
Today was my sister’s Memorial. It brought family and friends together, Even friends from our childhood and colleagues from the past attended.. Sweet music, a quiet ambiance, and an Irish poem filled the air with remembrance of Emmy. I wrote and recited this poem. My Sister As a toddler, I was told she was special. Special? What does that mean? I thought she was just like me. So, of course as a child does, I gave her dirty looks, stuck my tongue out at her, pulled her hair, hit her over the head, and ate candy out of her toys. She was my older sister, my only sibling, then. Isn’t that what you did? During our childhood years, Emmy went away. In those days, it seemed the course of action. Went to live somewhere else. I didn’t ask too many questions comforted that our parents were visiting her. Why did she leave us? I wondered . . . but not enough to ask. I didn’t think so much about my sister. Emmy was coming home! Change …
To be more or maybe less, there is an option neither to mingle nor disappear like in nonexistence stitch count, splat points, pace on a track, number of cardinals in a winter’s scene loved by dreamers there are those who believe Productivity, ambition, pride sing their praises of course, resting on one’s laurels is a way to the future Do they matter? Do they lead to happiness? A digit that moves from a 5 to a 6? Numbers. As I see it, define. ++++++++++ Inspired by ‘Shoe’ by O at the Edges
Not birthday, Not holiday. Not because you had to. Just a Note. From the heart These words came and are received. One of my favorite things in life are words Simple words, crafted with care meaningful to the receiver So thoughtful from the giver Just a note not to me best gift from one to another. This note came with an added treat . . . The title of the photo says it all; in-law family members included
“When I grow up I will have my own house.” Her inner voice would repeat “My own place, yes complete with a pet.” Her childhood dream. Closing the door to what ailed her, She wished away the years to adulthood She plotted, “Now I’ll sneak around. . . A little cape may do.” Marriage, children, work. Common living, The little house served the family well. The family thrived, The home owner, however her dream, not quite fulfilled. Years of banter as it was no longer a decision for one She struggled. “Maybe, I’ll sneak around to find a dwelling of satisfaction.” Oh, boy a quiet little block quaint and serine A lovely neighborhood it might just work They all agreed. Long settled in their home they are getting older now which is presenting new questions about their abode This dream of childhood is returning to the center of their attention. When does a person own a house When does a house ‘own’ its owner? They have no answers right now. But she is coming to realize the dream is not about the house rather the memories that are formed inside.