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

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Fighting windmills

September 23, 2011

Today I counted.

The ads.

And admonitions.

For elusive beauty.

And fountains of youth.

In miracle creams.

And botox vials.

Perfumes.

Nips and tucks.

All promising.

A different life.

Spent.

Fighting windmills.

But not wrinkles.

Rayne

Listening at Twilight

June 22, 2011

Twilight’s short around here.

Marked more by sound.

Than sight.

And walking the paths.

At dusk I hear.

Kids’ shouts mingled.

With mothers calling.

Home. Before dark.

And tractors from far.

In the sunflower fields.

Hurrying. The last pick.

Of the light.

And along the ditches.

Crickets and frogs.

Fight for chorus.

With jackals.

Loud. In surround sound.

And above my head.

If I listen hard.

The barn owl’s breath.

Following me.

Down the path.

At dusk.

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.

 

 

 

 

Passing time

May 30, 2011

In the schoolyard today.

With my little one.

And glimpsed.

For a moment.

My twenty-year old.

Aged eight.

Running with a bag.

Bigger than her.

To hug me.

And thought that.

In spite of the wrinkles.

This passing of time.

Is a treasure.

That carries within it.

Possibilities.

Of change.

And growth.

And new ways.

Not yet trod.

By young.

Or old.

“To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under the sun.”

Flowing grateful

May 25, 2011

Today I’m grateful.

For rising with the sun.

And the clear road.

That led to work.

Through moments of quiet.

And creative thought.

For the long weekend.

Of music and laughter.

Sleeping rough.

Under Galilee stars.

For coffee warmed.

By friendship.

And wise conversation.

And for new jewellery.

Of copper and turquoise.

Handmade with the heart.

For my neck.

Picking fruit

May 22, 2011

Today I followed.

The trail of fruit.

That leads to summer.

Winter apples.

Pears and oranges.

Far gone.

Market stalls filled.

With kiwi.

And yellow sugar melon.

Grown in cold valleys.

And deserts.

And by the roadside.

Black cherries.

Red watermelons.

Warm peaches.

And a mango tree.

Not quite ripe.

Not quite ready for summer.

Watching butterflies

May 12, 2011

Hundreds of butterflies.

Filled the air today.

Colors twirling.

Around the car.

But only I saw them.

As I sat with others.

Submerged.

In thought.

Of time far gone.

Or not yet here.

But not of today.

When the butterflies went by.

Walking on the beach

April 30, 2011

Walked on the beach today.

S’like nothing else.

For ironing out.

The wrinkles.

And the kinks.

For submerging.

Thoughts.

With sea sounds.

And finding balance.

In sneakers.

On sharp mossy rocks.

For feeling presence.

With footprints.

Disappearing in wet sand.

And filling pockets and hearts.

With driftwood.

And tumbled sea glass.

Springing into summer

April 16, 2011

Today summer arrived.

By surprise.

Ushered in.

By a hamsin.

From the east.

With no time to adjust.

To the heat.

Or the sun.

And no help.

From watermelon.

Or summer fruit.

And late afternoon.

I sat in the garden.

And waited for twlight.

Easy to miss.

And.

When darkness dropped.

The spring came back.

In the cool of the evening.

For just a short while.