Flowing grateful

September 24, 2011

Today I’m grateful.

For a birthday breakfast.

Of food.

And presents.

Spiced with love.

And wrapped in hugs.

Followed.

By a lazy rest.

In a dark cool room.

And a walk on the beach.

As pink light fell.

For a holey stone.

And seaglass.

Washed clean.

With Yoreh.

The first rain.

Arriving.

Like a long forgotten feeling.

 

Rayne

Catching up

August 5, 2011

Spent time.

With an old friend.

Comforted that.

In spite of.

Greying hairs.

The heart.

Neither wrinkles.

Nor sags.

Fueled.

By rehashed stories.

And good times shared.

Touched.

With tears and tales.

Of loss and sweet regret.

Lightened.

By an ageless sense of humor.

And laughter that doesn’t dim.

 

 

Counting to fifty

July 11, 2011

My husband and kids.

Family present and past.

Messy photos and memories.

And childhood smells.

Beach walks and driftwood.

The feeling of home.

Wood-oven baked pizza.

And a candle lit porch.

Cadbury’s chocolate.

Chai tea in winter.

Home-grown herbs.

And bubbling soup.

Pansies and roses.

Sweet peas. Frangipanis.

The white scent of jasmine.

And grapes on the vine.

Sunrise and sunset.

Rain on the rooftop.

A breeze from the ocean.

And sleeping outside.

The minute that dusk.

Turns into dark.

Crunching fresh snow.

And walking barefoot.

Nighttime driving.

With windows open.

Jewish holidays.

And birthday mornings.

Reading great blogs.

Tidy drawers.

An uncluttered house.

And a job well done.

Family meals round the table.

Watching movies.

Unlimited hugs.

And a cat on my lap.

Meditation in silence.

Old reggae music.

A Jack Johnson album.

And a well-loved book.

Lazy vacations.

Outdoor markets.

Summer fruit.

And ice cold drinks.

Cold showers on hot days.

Meeting old friends.

Kids laughing together.

And smiles at work.

A  tended garden.

White beach houses.

Walks in nature.

And waterfalls.

A chilled white wine.

A warming red.

Meandering road trips.

And an empty weekend.

A quiet morning.

A cup of coffee.

Letting go.

And inner calm.

Flowing Grateful

July 3, 2011

Today I’m grateful.

For slow weekend meals.

Of laughter and food.

For the warmth.

Between my kids.

And their cousins.

For my little one’s hugs.

Before the teenage storm.

And the middle child’s way.

Of spinning the world she wants.

For my eldest who knows.

To care for time. And friends.

And for my amazement.

At their gifts.

Acquired.

From here.

And elsewhere.

Flowing grateful

June 11, 2011

Today I’m grateful.

For a weekend.

Free from email.

And remembering.

Not to read the news.

For a grey twilight beach.

With the sun fading down.

And a bonfire.

Of salty blue wood.

For dinner with friends.

In night-air and laughter.

With marmalade ice-cream.

And a honeysuckle scent.

 

 

 

 

Remembering

May 8, 2011

Today is the day.

We look.

If we can.

In the eyes of parents.

Whose children died before them.

Loss in black and white.

And life in grey.

Impossible to figure.

God or the world.

And the El Maleh Rachamim.

Of 11 o’clock.

And of Yehuda Amichai.

Know that if not for the God-full-of-mercy. There would be mercy in the world, Not just in Him.

Flowing grateful

May 4, 2011

Today I am grateful.

That in the chaos of work.

And change.

And corporate life.

There are friends.

Giving gracefully.

Of busy time.

And wisdom.

Hard earned.

Ready to share.

In success.

And less fine moments.

So that troubles shared.

Are halved.

Celebrating Passover

April 20, 2011

The seder.

Allows us to be present.

Around the table.

Of the past.

To take a journey led.

By stories.

And songs.

And tribal memory.

And fueled.

By ritual food.

And blessings.

To close the circle.

Again.

Of a thousand years.

In a thousand places.

Loving hands

April 13, 2011

Looking at my hands today.

Getting wrinkled.

From age.

And the sun.

But full.

With memory.

Of reaching out.

For other hands.

In laughter.

And in sorrow.

Of caressing lovers.

And pleasure felt.

With fingertips.

And a sensual touch.

Of stroking hair.

And holding tight.

To parents.

Slipping from me.

Of children loved.

And noses wiped.

In a mother mix.

Of strong and soft.

Hands that.

Know more.

And remember more.

Than I.

Linking hands

April 5, 2011

Women friends make me feel.

Like someone will catch me.

When I fall over.

Myself.

As I inevitably do.

No words.

Or judgment.

Just hands.

Outheld.

Linked.

And ready to hug.