A Quiet Place For Words

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It was getting a little noisy for me on social media. I am still there, on twitter, instagram and Facebook. And I am on Tumblr and Pinterest too. And yes, I am here on my blog. My writing home. Thank you again for being here with me, always. But I have craved a quieter space. And I am creating one for us. An email letter from me to you, in your inbox, for subscribers who are interested in more poetry, photography, prose, essays and some updates on my journey into working toward my first published book. Don’t worry you haven’t missed much.

It is still early and there is no book. And the newsletter, it is not about that. But I may share a little of the high points of that journey. Dead end or success. I am excited to share with you that I am working behind the scenes on a book proposal. So there is that project. Along with this one.

A Quiet Place For Words. I hope you enjoy what you find there. (please feel free to subscribe, it is free. And then unsubscribe if you find it is not for you. I know how closely I guard my own email inbox. I get it. I understand.)

Click the link below to subscribe to my Tiny Letter. A once weekly, or less frequent, letter to be delivered to your inbox. Quietly. I promise not to make a lot of noise.

This little labor of love will be sent to subscribers next week. I hope you will join me.

Elizabeth W Marshall  – a quiet place for words

RSVP, Merci

pink beach sadie

RSVP, Merci

On the tip of the earth as I know it
I look out
Imagine more
Hidden, veiled in mystery
Concealed by cover of tan and blanket of blues
In a wink and a nod
I blink
It is all still there
The beautiful
Blows by, brushing by the strands of my windblown hair
I stare
And as the haunting, beguiling ghost crabs
I crawl, slow then quick step, padding through the heat
Weaving up and down, then back
A strategy to cover the breadth and depth and width
With these weaving
As I
Pass sediment on the shore
Waves shake hands with hot brown sand, as if it were
Flipped in the cast-iron skillet where the grease pops scalding
Hot
Vapors rise up in waves of heat-rising
Day is cooking herself under a blazing summer southern sun
I whisper and inaudible yes
Say yes to all this and more

There is a call in the barren places
Where I walk
And pass not a soul for a little long while
The sea is stingy this day
Giver of gifts on many a Sunday stroll
Tumbling treasures, teasing me
rolling gifts up and rolling them back

down, yo-yo style
Free-style
Playing with me
Tempting me to step one more step in search of more

surprise, it is not about that which I can touch or take
My hands may leave empty, today
But the attic of my soul will not
It is storing up
poetry
And I respond
It is collecting
art and beauty, dreaming of the soul-work
yet to come
Merci
To all my searching soul can see
Along this stretch of shore and life

I respond, with a song of Sunday gratitude
No more
Merci
It is all I know to do

Empty beach shadow profile

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Joining Laura Boggess

A Few Things I Learned In June {Joining Emily Freeman}

I learned a few things in June. What a month. Packed with life in all its wonder, glory, joy and pain.

I am still processing so much of what this month revealed to me. And if you have been reading along here for awhile you have heard me say “I am a slow processor.” Think the crockpot of cookeries up against the ultimate microwave. I process the things of life which I ingest over a longish period of time. Hours not minutes. Days not hours. Often.

That is to say, I am not ready to share all that I have learned. But here are a few things which I am longing to share.

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1. When we choose to do that one small thing, its impact is multiplied. Simply put, simple things can and do become grand things. Small gestures can and do become life-impacting.  The Small and The Simple are to be embraced, cherished and sought after. They take on the attributes of the magnificent. Capitalizing the lowercase things of this world.

They, after all are the game-changers, the life-changers, the emotional softening of the hard and crusty places. In June alone, I have seen this played out over and over and over again. My eyes leak and my heart hurts at the beauty and wonder of the transformative power of small. Look with me. Do you see how beautiful the small things of this world are. In a wink, a blink and a nod there are pieces of beautiful waiting to be captured, recorded and cherished. Cataloging life this way fills me up to over-flowing.

And I am learning this again and again. I am learning and believing that this is the way we are meant to see the world. I am a slow learner. And slow is really okay.

2. As a writer, I am called to use my words. And as a reader, you are invited to enter in and see the picture on the canvas that is the page. Have you seen the gold balls that drop down from the heavenlies. I found two pods this week.

(If you follow my instagram feed you may know I am in the glorious Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina for a respite). You can Google with me….there is a tree which drops gold, rounded pods. And they are fragile as parchment paper, bumpy like a golfball, golden like Oriental silk. And beautiful. I am always looking for wonder and posting what I find on Instagram. It helps me to stay awake at the wheel. And no I did not take a picture of the golden balls. But we will find them on Google together.

The day I found one, I proclaimed. Gold balls are falling from heaven. No anomaly was that. I found a second. Don’t we love Google for solving the earthly mysteries, like gold balls which nature has made. Amazing.

3. Voxer is my new best friend. This I did not learn in June. This I have had amplified in June. As I am writing this post I am Voxering my very special friend Shelly Miller in London  (which by the way this “What I Learned Series” is a favorite tradition within the bloggy world  – thank you very much Emily Freeman)

Voxer is a phone app which allows you to talk, walkie-talkie style, text and send photos. Welp. That is pretty much a communication dream package, you hit the lottery, what more could you ask for. I know there are some downsides somewhere in there, but for me (and I haven’t even up-graded to Pro yet) it is the bomb-diggity. People. I get to stay in touch with writers, bloggers and friends all over the whole wide world.

4. Releasing often, maybe always involves trust. A young couple approached me at the gas station last week. They asked me for one dollar and fifty cents. For the bus. I cannot stop thinking about their need. Their circumstances, because they told me the Reader’s Digest version of their story. I am still thinking about them. Hoping for them. And when I remember to I hope I will pray for them. That small interchange, eye-ball to eye-ball, exchange of money from my hand to theirs leaves me changed. Who asks for so little. Why didn’t they go for a 20 or more. They had a need for a bus ticket from one town to the next. Small again. I wish I had been willing to give them more.

5. People like to talk about their gardens. If you know anyone who has a garden, ask them. How are your radishes this year. How are the rainfall and the soil in your world. Ask them what is thriving and what is wilting. I think the vocabulary of gardeners is the vocabulary of the soul. And if you want an ice breaker, conversation starter, or if you just want to connect on a human level with another human being, ask them about their garden. Open the garden gate and see what transpires. And you can ask yours truly about hers or follow me on instagram, where beginning July 1, it is all about my garden and chickens. AGAIN.

Gardens are a beautiful, never-grows old, metaphor for life. A place of paradox. Life and death, thriving and struggling, flourishing and floundering.

How does your garden grow?

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A Matter Of Grace

Grace

A Matter Of Grace

For the life of me

I cannot find where it stops

And starts

There are those who have the off valve at their disposal, and those

Who cannot find the switch marked “on”

They,  being of a large herd of people, otherwise known as sheep, who hear his voice and claim to control the grace valve

For the life of me

I stand under the pining Jesus, starring, as though never before having been introduced to grace which is my imagination at work, because I have known grace for an eternity, marveling at raw new grace as if for the first time, for the life of me and all the sheep

And I ask him to stand by me

As if we were looking out in tandem, out at the world on the cusp of another July

And I ask, in a muffled prayer, and squint the eyes of my heart, because they are closer to 20/20 than my old eyes, arriving upon another July

“Where does the grace begin and end?”

Because

For the life of me, of which there have been 56 July’s, to add a frame of reference to some of the things I’ve seen

And I weep and he wails

This artist has depicted him bent and bemoaning

And I as an artist, writing of grace, I feel it is perfectly fitting because of the pain

And for the life of him

I cannot find the end

Of unceasing grace, unending gift, a long tangling and untangling of one more lagnaippe, gift upon gift, generously unfurled

From on high, an example of how to unfurl the fists, clenched

The hands in the crucifix hold the flow of grace

Upon grace

For the life of holy, sacred

Him

For the life of me, I think I may now see, the one more small added grace, upon the existing grace, upon the extended grace, upon the amazing grace, upon the forever and ever amen grace

ad infinitum

let grace flow

For goodness’ sake, for the life of Him in us

Joining Laura Boggess. Because it is Monday