Drama Unfolding

What kindnesses happen when we are not looking?
What special favors are done for us, without our knowing?
How many stars, shining in the dark and cloudless sky
Were put there, just for us, to admire their brightness glowing?

How many times has a gentle breeze brought comfort
On an overpoweringly hot and humid day?
How many times has the sound of birds singing
Helped us brush the blues away?

How many times have simple events caused
Their gentle magic to work wonders in our lives
And gone unnoticed in the hustle and bustle of our days
Even though they occurred right before our own eyes?

How long will we take for granted, the people and things
That add the color, and brightness, and joy to our days?
Disgruntled, tired, world-weary as we trudge through the hours
Not seeing, not acknowledging the error of our ways?

Forever focused on the mundane and meaningless bits
Of fodder and ilk that overpopulate our tumultuous being.
Unable to fathom, or contemplate the minutiae that we collect
That, like a splinter in an eye, prevents us from really seeing.

The beauty that is the world around us
The life-fulfilling, joyful and exciting, natural drama
That unfolds before our very eyes, if we would only look
And focus, for once, on something other than the trauma.

Another Day

Another day, another life that is nearly ending,
Another loved one, and tears anew,
Another heart needs mending.

I’m there each time, comforting and caring
Trying to think of the right words to say,
As hearts are torn apart.

Wishing I could mend all the hearts I meet
And all the lives that are empty.

Knowing that I can only mend the heart
That lives inside of me.

Hoping for the best each day and giving love
As if I have a supply, never-ending.

Feeling their pain as they say goodbye
To someone who was too precious to lose
And feeling a little part of me die, too.

Can I change what I see on a daily basis?

Can I save these souls who do not want to die?

I am not magic, nor am I a soothsayer
I only know that, when the time comes that I am needed
I will be there.

A Short Story

The bumpy road, rattling windshield, and choking engine
Make conversation impossible.
He looks straight ahead as he maneuvers the tricky country lane.
I sit beside him in quiet terror.
Windows rolled down, or just gone, the wind runs through the cab.
It is sweetened with the scent of clover
And it is choking me.

We cross the wooden bridge with fingers crossed
The bridge is in worse shape than the truck.
I look down quickly at the creek, visible through the bridge planks.
Brown water, frosted with the shimmer of sunlight.
And weeds. Weeds everywhere.

Left turn at the fork in the road. Right fork drops off the edge of the hill.
Tall trees shade the dirt road and the temperature in the cab drops noticeably.
That’s better, I think to myself.
Another turn, this time to the right. Where are we going I wonder.
I ask, again, and the answer is silence, again.
Why did I let him talk me into coming with him?

The kids are at grandma’s for the weekend. I need the break.
I have so much to do and so little time to get it done.
Why did I give up this valuable time to go with him?
My ears hurt from the horrible rattling,
My back is sore from all the back-breaking potholes we’ve been through.
What could possibly happen to make this worthwhile?

Suddenly, his stoic, expressionless face comes to life with a smile.
For an instant, I think I see the young man I married so many years ago
Sitting next to me in this god-awful truck.
He looks at me for the first time since we left home. “Look” he says,
“There it is! There’s our tree!” His joy is genuine.
So is my disgust.

“You brought me all the way out here just to look at some tree?
We have a yard full of trees at home!” I replied.
He looks at me with that sweet, crooked smile that I fell in love with
When we were only fifteen. I feel my anger melt away.
That’s not fair, damn him, I want to be mad for awhile longer.
But I can’t.

He jumps out of the cab and comes around to my door, opening it for me.
“Come on, sweetheart, I have a surprise for you!” Damn enthusiasm!
What surprise could possibly be worth the chiropractic bill I’m going to have?
After riding on this back-breaking road?
A picnic basket, hidden under the junk in the bed of the truck, reveals itself.
A bottle of wine, miraculously unharmed by the jolting ride,
Sandwiches, fresh fruit, and a little white box spill out from the red-checked tablecloth.
I don’t have time to wonder what’s in the box: he is pulling me toward the tree.
Now what? Haven’t I suffered enough?

He spreads the tablecloth in the cool shade of the big old tree.
I will not admit to him that it is really quite pretty out here.
And quiet. And peaceful. Or is it just because the truck is not running?
The babbling of the creek is pleasant music to my ears.
The sun shines beautifully on the wildflowers.
Oh come on, I don’t have time for this!

The white box again. Unless it’s a coupon for a housekeeping service,
I don’t need it. I need to go home and clean, and pay bills, and shop for groceries.
This is such a waste of time. A hummingbird hovers nearby.
There is nothing out here to interrupt my thoughts. It is too peaceful.
I thrive in chaos! I need stimulation!

Why is he pulling me to my feet? I walk with him to take a closer look at the tree.
He is scraping stuff off the trunk. Purposefully, lovingly uncovering some ancient marker.
“Look” he says. “It’s us: ‘Bobby loves Gina’”. Memories start to flood my consciousness.
This is the tree we stood under when he asked me to marry him.
True, we were only fifteen at the time but he promised that he would ask me again when we were older.

And he did. Four years later before he left for Iraq. My smile is back.
I remember everything about that day and this tree.
How could I let such important memories get buried so deeply in trivial worries?
How could I forget what a good man he is—and always has been?
How could I be mad at my soul mate? My best friend?
I look up at him and share my smile with him. He’s seen me frown for too long.

The white box. What could it be? It’s not my birthday. It’s not our anniversary.
What is it? I hope it’s NOT a coupon for housekeeping! I hope it’s something that’s as special as he is.
He is talking a mile a minute now, telling me about all the time and energy he spent finding it.
Telling me so I will realize how important it was to him to get it just right.

And he did.

The white box holds an engagement ring, something I never had because we just couldn’t afford it.
Not just any ring either: my grandmother’s engagement ring.
Repaired, with the stone reset, and all the beautiful filigree they used to put on rings.
Special rings.
Engagement rings.

I look up at him again and kiss him.
Thank you for the ring, my darling.
Thank you for all the memories.
Thank you for helping me recognize what is important—and what isn’t.

The ride home is magical.
The old truck engine is purring; the windshield isn’t rattling, either.
The wind through the cab is more like a gentle spring breeze.
The smell of the clover is intoxicating.
We are both smiling.
And holding hands.

Delete

Delete.
I can’t say that. It doesn’t sound right.
It doesn’t sound wrong, either.
It just isn’t how I want to say it.

Why do I have to say anything?
I haven’t done anything wrong.
What explanation do I owe anyone?
“I just want you to know…….”

Delete.
How do I tell him?
What do I want him to know?
Is now the time to tell him?

I have never done this before.
Why is this different?
Why do I always over analyze everything?
“I need to tell you…………..”

Delete.
I don’t “need” to tell him anything.
I want to tell him how I feel.
Why? What does he need to know?

Do I think that he will not like me
If he knows what I am feeling?
Do I think he would be gone if he knew?
“I have to tell you……….”

Delete.
I don’t have to tell him anything.
I want to tell him how I feel.
My heart is so full of love that it is bursting.
Is that possible?

How long do you have to know someone
To know that there is an undeniable connection
Between you and him?
What does my heart know that I don’t?

Simplicity is always good.
No prefaces, no explanations, no excuses
No fear of the consequences.
Just simply the truth:
I love you.

Another Starry Night

Ten o’clock at night and bright as day.

The full moon makes the backyard look magical.
Moonlight reflected off the white azalea blossoms
Looking both beautiful and surreal.

Quiet at last. The kids next door must be tucked in bed.
The only sounds are from the freeway in the distance.
The droning hum of the traffic is not irritating at all.
The dogs have sniffed every blade of grass
And are now settled in at my feet.

I look up in awe at the sky
Looking at familiar constellations from my childhood.
We lay on a blanket, us kids and daddy
In this same backyard, many years ago.
Looking up at the same stars in the same sky.

Daddy knew all the names of all the constellations,
In English and in Latin, and what they meant.
He told stories of using the stars to guide travelers on land and sea.
How could one person know so much?
How could I know so little?

As I look up at the sky tonight, I see the Big Dipper.
Small aircraft fly over with their lights twinkling.
I scan the sky in anticipation:
No shooting stars tonight.

So much has changed since I was a child.
Changes too numerous to mention
Or even completely comprehend.
Except the stars in the sky
The moonlight on the azalea blossoms
And the awe I feel when I look up at the night sky."

Your Spirit

For some of you, there is a spirit that resides in your imagination.
You don’t know where it came from, or its destination.
It hovers around your head, like a mosquito from some irritating source.
Then comes at you unrelentlessly, thundering like a chariot and horse.

It will not be appeased by your miserable, flailing arms.
It is only impressed by your poetic writing charms.
Ignored, unfulfilled, or stifled, it clouds your ability to think.
Nurtured, and brought out in the sun, your ego it drinks.

Unfettered and unleashed, like an eagle it can soar.
Louder, yet softer than after or before.
You drink of this spirit, and praise its existence.
And laugh at yourself for offering resistance.

At times you swear that you are its prisoner.
Lost in the demands of an arrogant master.
Cursing, and fighting, and delaying, and crying.
You admonish yourself for your life’s disaster.

At your lowest point, as you are down on your knees,
You pray that this spirit will someday be appeased.
Then comes the little mosquito of hope, out of nowhere
Buzzing round your ear, hiding in your hair.

What is this? Where did all this beauty come from?
What power imbued you with this overwhelming ability?
This incredible, intoxicating, addictive flow of words,
This poetic prowess and linguistic agility?

It is your inner spirit that commands, demands
That you answer its siren call.
Write it down, write it down, write it down now!
Before the thought is lost.

You are a poet, author, writer and the servant of your spirit.
For it is your inner spirit that defines who you are.

Love Lingers.........

The smile, the kiss, the embrace
My skin tingles beneath your fingers.
Your scent, your taste, your voice
All of it. Love lingers…..

The words we spoke this morning
The thoughts we have always
The places we were, the people we saw
The telling of it. Love stays…..

The sharing of our secret thoughts
The foundation of our love grows
The exploring and the discovery
All of it. Love knows…….

The world we have built around each other
Sometimes, with real life, collides
But in our own sphere of influence,
All of it. Love abides…..

When we part and go out in the world
And weather life’s many storms,
Tossed about in cold and rain,
We’re safe. Love warms……

Sometimes, battered and bruised, we wander
Through the Pain that Life reveals
Only to return home to each other’s arms,
Life hurts. Love heals…..

Waiting, sometimes impatiently
For the time we can be together.
Knowing that the time will come,
Waiting. For Love’s tether….

Love is the tether that binds us
Forever binding Me to You, and You to Me
There’s slack in the tether to wander,
Love brings us back to where we want to be.