The Fear Of Forgetting, The Art of Remembering

January 24, 2013January 24, 2013 ~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 8 Comments

She recalls the smallest detail from years ago.

She recalls the long ago.

And she forgets the half a moment away.

Mystery in the mind, mystery in the aging

of memory.

A life gets blurred like watercolors on a canvas.

Color present, color faded, lines and detail run away and off the page

Until a version of blurry new is present in the present.

And what will I recall.

What will I remember.

Will the written anchor memories of each, of the three, the best, the challenges

I dream a dream of capturing it all in bell jar, lid light,

In marked detail , the love and laughter

Growing up at my feet, at my bosom for years

If you add them, all the days between the three

It would make one old child, but they are three

And will the words help bury memories, encase them in a time capsule

Just in case the mind and memory fade as it does and as it did for her

She says remember when you and how could I, barely I do, I barely recall

I the child she the mother of this obscure event, no event is unworthy of recording

All are worthy, all are worthy.

If I write and when I write may it be a doubled effort to recall

The smallest moments in their, our, this life.

Branding, blazing all the breathes in ink, in stone, the sacred ones

The what He gives, the what we take

No it is what we receive, and remember and offer back

By recording, all the moments in an effort

To remember.

She remembers the smallest detail from long long ago.

May I remember the smallest details from long long ago.

And begin to see through her eyes, a glimpse, a slant of how

She saw and how she sees

That is grace.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Joining Emily at Imperfect Prose for her one word prompt this week…Mother.

Moving At A Snails Pace (Photo Blogging)

June 19, 2012June 20, 2012 ~ Elizabeth W. Marshall ~ 5 Comments

Oh the best laid plans.

To go one way and then you find yourself heading another way entirely.

Spontaneously slow walking and talking, at a snail’s pace really.

Uncovering the unexpected. And stopping. Often.

To ponder on the stumbled on wonder.

To view the world with a shift in your life lense. The one through which you view things in the daily ordinary.

But the summertime lense can bring a cool green change in perspective.

Cut flowers from the yard, petals on the path, shadows through the gate they lay down and ask to be stumbled upon.

When you find yourself moving at a snail’s pace. Because you walk in the shadow of a generation before. And you know you have this one glorious day.

And the gift comes in taking the path marked by another one. Whose pace is not your own.

And isn’t that what love does? It shifts gears and changes pace and waits on others.

It is patient and it is kind. And I think sometimes it moves slow and steady, at a snail’s pace. And the only rushing sound is that of the waterfall. I am learning to love like this. Slow and patient. Unrushed.

But I am slow at learning to love, like this. And oh it is so slow and hard, this new kind of love.

But that Joy comes in the unrushed dog days of summer in the shadow of another generation is a good lesson to learn. Summer teaches with her slow warm hand. She turns the head and opens the heart to learn anew.And shows in the slow light of a June day how to love to the beat of another’s pace and stride. To love the other’s ways. To bend down in love to another’s needs.

Even if I learn it at a slow snail’s pace, it is that I learn it at all, in the days remaining that is important.

And the light creeps through and shines like the Hope that I have to learn it well and to learn it for good. The good that is lasting and the good that is slow
and patient and kind.

We are three generations watching in love at how we care for and love another. Three women with a pace and stride unlike the other’s, learning to bend in love. Slow loving the other.

Slowing down for love on these dog days of summer.