The Rookery & Scenes from A Perfectly Imperfect Life

220px-Great_Egret_strikes_for_a_Fish_-_crop The Rookery

At dusk, we remark
That they jockey for a limb
The best perch
Before dark
We invade the quiet

How do you sleep sitting up
Choose your limb
Preen your feathers
And say good night to the bird
To your left
And the one to your right

We have ruffled their feathers
Who is watching whom
The birds
They  wonder
Who takes off in a boat at night
To bird

The limb picking
Hunched  birds, silhouette of old men
Mateless, alone
Solitary silhouettes washed in shades of graying

We are

Of the perfect nest
Needing rest

And solitude
Flocked together

Hunkering down

River, motor cut, we float
This night
Stills all that ills

And we float on
Riding the wake
Of a solitary tug

Leaving the rookery

With peels of laughter

Not a bird is bothered
We all flock together

This night lit by precious
Crescent’s light
Slivery, silvery moon

To the solitary bachelors, we say
Two men
And a boat with their wives for

The night is young
If we are not.


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Friendship is the binocular view we trade for the solitary magnifying glass; a panoramic perspective through the looking glass of love – Shelly Miller

group pic 2

When life gets lonely, call out the sisterhood. Or gather the troops. Or celebrate friendship. Sequestered away like a monk in a monastery, rapunzelled away in the tower of life, solitude can sting. And one can burrow down in the writing of life and miss the very of living of it. Nose nestled into the pages of the recording device. How nice to take big gulps from the real and the swim into the seas of living.

And months and days, and weeks and fortnights of lots of time alone, writing make one parched for real  life. We  need a splash of technicolored friendship. So I sent an invitation to celebrate friendship. And waves of words saying I want to come washed up on my little island of me, myself and I. There are debaters who like to debate any issue that comes along. And I have heard voices take sides on whether or not it is lonely to living a writing life. I believe and and yes and no and sometimes.

That discussion is for another time and place. For this is simply a looking back with joy on a gathering of friends. FIfty four years can collect friends  like life-lines, along the way. Or did they collect me. Some new, some old.  Strangers and  children. Around the banquet table living life on a rainy day. We gathered. And I am reminded of the shifts that come when we view our lives through a different lens. I, the one fascinated by perspective. Not knowing why perspective fascinates my soul.

We are hungry at the table again. The way He intended. By His very design. He purposed us for fellowship. And calling to mind and memory His gifts, the ones He gave with good pleasure.

This day, I saw joy in sets of eyes and lengths of living, lengths of hair, faces shine back at me. Sun soaked souls, happily wrinkled, we. Laughter echoed through the Bistro. And we feasted on each other and the manna of life and love.

A simple day celebrating friendship, they answered the call to come gather. My life seems like an episode of “Antiques Road Show” on a day like this. Not knowing the value in friendships that stay hidden, dormant for too long. How the value is revealed when brought out and into the open.

I asked when I invited, please bring a line or a word about friendship. And I will gather your words in one poem. Weave together the words you offer into one offering of poetry. That is in the works. As we continue living in the wake of a tidal wave of pressed memories. Pressed deep within my soul.

Thank you friends for loving me in life and on this rainy day. I cherish the minutes marked  this day and the years we have between us. Of living and breathing, mothering and parenting, writing and laughing.

So much more than I can ever say. You make life rich and wonderful.

There was nothing perfect about it. No engraved invitations or place cards and party favors. Perfectly staged and planned events are so fleeting. But it was wholly and wonderfully perfect from my lens. Chairs were shuffled, friends cancelled, three at the last minute. We were wet from the flooded parking lot. But we dripped with joy for an hour or two in the middle of July.

It caused me to pause,  reminded me, necessarily to stop and gather, stop and break bread, stop and celebrate life and all its imperfect perfectness. We shuffled places and shared meals and sent one back to the kitchen. With gracious apologies returned with kindness and it is all so okay. We are all flawed. We are all perfectly imperfect ourselves.

But love prevailed and introductions were made. And we gathered this side of glory. And learned from one another and prayed for the absent ones.

But mostly we laughed. And we loved.

And I was reminded not to wait to celebrate this simply ordinary extraordinary imperfectly perfect life.

friends at bistro on birthday

Thank you Shelly, of Redemptions Beauty, for the words you wrote and gifted me on this day which are the inspiration for this post.

Joining Laura at Laura Boggess dot com

(Photo Credit – Wikipedia – Egret)

Of Note To Me And Perhaps One Other Soul

new fave for art quote

Of Note To Me And Perhaps One Other Soul

I am lost in the memory of some marvelous moments.

They settled in my treasuring place

Where captured thoughts are trapped

And I can pull them out with remarkable remembering

 If I am fortunate to remember them

Even dimly, even faintly

They were these

A daughter singing hymns in my ear so sweet, on the back pew of the church

And a wiggling soul dressed in smocked white dress, with the restlessness of two or less

And they included this

The sound of one whose soul’s been sad sound happy at long last

And  hear her speak of hope and sigh relief of all the what’s to come

So I will lose myself in thoughts of what was artful, beautiful in this day

And in the writing and remembering I suddenly can see

The more I see, the more I look, the more I write

Of life as art

And the  beautiful in life

With eyes wide open on the heels of January arctic cold

Both losing and finding as Merton wrote

The day she handed a book of poetry to me

On the back row of the church

All this of note to me

And now perhaps one other soul


Joining Deidra and Michelle at Michelle DeRusha dot com




Someday Is One Day Is Today

Let the peace of Christ keep you in tune with each other, in step with each other. None of this going off and doing your own thing. And cultivate thankfulness. Let the word of Christ – the Message – have the run of the house. — Colossians 3:17

One day the sun will hit the Magnolia leaves just right so that there are glistening greens of every shade and hue, even Moss and Hunter and Crayola’s New Spring Green, all in one tree.

And one day the house in its quiet will hum like a cat’s purr and the still will sound like a beautiful peace covered it in a blanket of goose down insulation. For a moment, cocooned in its own safe place, away from all the world.

And birds will chirp on repeat in their repetitive reset rhythmic cadence like a gentle alarm clock belonging to the Earth itself.

Children will grow while they are sleeping in the quiet space between childhood and adulthood and Thanksgiving and Christmas, dreaming of white lights and decorated homes with roaring crackling orange flamed dancers over the cut wood sturdy logs.

And she will know, that the one day she prayed for and hoped for is actually this day, this today, the day that the Lord has made. And that all the dreaming can now stop because someday sits curled up like contented milk filled baby with sweet bowed lip on the lap of her today.

And its all more than just okay.

Its simple. Its beautiful. And five will stand shoulder to shoulder in church and thank the One who gave her today.


Joining Deidra and her beautiful Sunday community.