+ Her Barefoot Heart
i love how the falls,
ordinarily so lacey and pristine,
go all muddy on us after a storm.
the sediment, once hidden in quiet repose underneath the surface,
comes rushing to the top,
debris once settled in another life faraway from here
gets added to the mix,
sometimes staying a while
as though waiting on the next big storm to come along.
i’ve been many places
in the past several weeks,
traveling for many reasons,
all reasons involving other people.
some folks are quick to divide people
into two groups:
those who like people
and those who don’t like people.
i continue to bump up against
that categorization,
but i no longer spend time and energy
trying to explain that i, too, like people
just in different doses.
defending and explaining is time and energy better devoted
to what my soul must have
as nourishment:
space,
silence,
solitude.
Sugar, today (and everyday, for that matter) (but especially today), I wish you . . .
wisdom
capriccioso,
and solitude.
I wish you . . .
asylum and refuge
cerulean, zephyrs, and lullabies
talismans, bibelots, aubades, and amulets of beauty.
I wish you . . .
tapestries of rhapsodies, epiphanies, and tranquility
silver linings, caresses, and champagne
and all the colorful, textured felicity you can stand.
I wish you sojourns
that as as meaningful as they are memorable
and I send the wishes all
wrapped up in a gossamer bow called love.
the sun peeked out from the clouds
just enough to lure us out
for a walk this morning.
i chose this hill,
which looks enticingly meandering
from the bottom
and a bit more formidable from the top
husband went another way.
he has his own hills to climb.
——-
yesterday the water raged,
fierce and muddied in its flowing.
agitated, to say the least.
today, such a difference.
there’s still a lot of water flowing,
but much has settled
making things clearer.
——-
on one side of the bridge,
the water is calm,
smooth,
like an oddly-shaped mirror
reflecting all around it.
deceptively placid.
but when it flows under the bridge
it transforms noticeably.
letting no boulder
or branch
stand in its way.
moss growing
only around the far edges.
last week
i noticed that my arms now
look more like my mother’s
than my daughter’s.
and that set me to thinking a lot about aging.
wondering where my life has gone
how it’s been spent.
i find myself spending a lot of time
pondering (and fretting a wee bit, truth be known)
about getting older.
about leaving my mark.
about life leaving its marks on me.
today i walked along the beach
noticing the beautiful variety of ways
the passage of time
leaves its mark on nature.
and honestly, i can’t help but wish
that mother nature was as kind to my skin
as she is to the sand.
It was a sunny spring day atop the mountain,
the sky too blue,
the breeze too gentle,
the temperature too temperate
to stay inside doing paperwork.
So we didn’t.
With no particular plan,
we hit the road,
and before long,
we found ourselves
submersed in history
all kinds of history,
some older than ancient . . .
If walls could talk,
imagine the stories
the graffiti-laden walls of the old jail
located in downtown Franklin, NC could tell.
Geologists say that rocks remember.
Of course they can,
so just imagine the stories these rocks,
part of The Gem & Mineral Society of Franklin, NC amazing collection
(located in the aforementioned old jail)
could tell:
Crystals grew inside rock like arithmetic flowers.
They lengthened and spread,
added plane to plane in an awed
and perfect obedience
to an absolute geometry
that even stones –
maybe only the stones –
understood.
~ Annie Dillard
Eggs have no business dancing with stones. ~ Italian proverb
Then we came home and went to walk where we spied these rocks:
If it weren’t for the rocks in its bed, the stream would have no song. ~ Carl Perkins
Study how water flows in a valley stream,
smoothly and freely between the rocks.
Also learn from holy books and wise people.
Everything –
even mountains, rivers, plants and trees –
should be your teacher.
~ Morihei Ueshiba
I tell you what, Sugar:
at this end of a day like this,
there is only one thing to say:
Amen.
This work by Jeanne Hewell-Chambers is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at http://www.TheBarefootHeart.com.
© 2024 Jeanne Hewell-Chambers
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