the art of taking note
Brave, they seem
Beauty in the cold
Bold, they bloom
Bringers of hope
Bouquets of art in ash
Brave, they are
Bracing their blooms in the arctic winds
Braving the elements
Bringing merciful glory to a garden
Bunched or singular
Buglers of tomorrow’s new
Bastions of grace amid green foliage
All will be well with my soul,
When the camellia bloom.
Joining Laura at The Wellspring for her Playdates. One of my favorite places.
There is much blowing, fragments and shards lost in the cyclone tunnel of the unknown
Caught in the wind, currents of cruel pain
But I will hide in the shelter of the storm
No, rest there
And seek Comfort in the calm of the now
Tomorrow blows her unknown winds
Today rests calmly in her now
This calm before the storm
It may be after all
The calm that will remain
As Hope covers the windswept chapped and weary soul.
Joining Sandra Heska King for Still Saturdays and with Oikos Living dot com for True Vine Challenge
Through the veil, around the bend, past the point of no, not, never
Beyond the beginning, against a wall of crumbled wonder
She scales the fence of dreaming
Clenching the ledge of maybe
Jaw, fist tight
Climbing over the stoned tower of cannot
And drops dead weight into the arms of the possible
Caught, held, saved
By the net of her day dream.
Oh the sweet joy of wrapping and sending and writing with wordcandy.me. Join me and other sweet bloggers as we sprinkle the world with poetry, photography, and images. Won’t you take a peak at all the beauty there. Just visit wordcandy.me to send words and images to people in your world.
The Patient One and I got in the car and drove an hour and a half to visit a church yesterday.
And studied possibility and new and change and weighed some options, as much as man can. For in all the weighing there is really more of a a wondering, what does He have for us in these months and days to come. As we make decisions at the prompt of His will and opening of doors and opportunity. Abundance on the other side of the stepping off and into a life.
My mind was swirling a bit with my post for today. You know the one where she writes looking over the shoulder, reflecting with sentiment and sap, good sap not bad sap, or with thankfulness and the benefit of hindsight, all twenty twenty. You know the one all covered in out with the old and in with the whatever. I have a love hate relationship with cliches. They are just so cliche. They can’t help it really that’s what they are. I digress.
What if life is just more of a beautiful continuation and less of a stop and start of days and years. Just a generous outpouring of well, life.
My mind was swirling a bit about the what was and what will be. And then I saw this and I could not and cannot stop thinking of what it says as it sings to my soul. And it does that. It whispers and sings and it is so sweet.
It is the beauty in the ash.
It is the hope in things to come.
It’s the new and tender mercy on the other side of pain and disappointment.
It is the unexpected joy.
And I can’t stop starring like an awkward teenage boy at the sight of a beautiful young girl. The picture is romancing me. It is calling to the dark and out of the dark.
There were no rolled eyes when I asked him to stop. Well really screamed stop. He slammed on the breaks when I saw the scene and screamed stop here I have to take a picture.
There was no hesitation. There was accomodation.
When Beauty calls and the world speaks and we stop to listen there is story and lesson and meaning and yes singing too. To a soul.
So I will muse a little in my soul about resolution and change and dreams and desires.
I will plan and weigh and dance around a list of life to-do’s.
But mostly I will dream with an expectancy and hope. I will launch my soul into the days of all that I see in this picture taken after church on the last Sunday in 2012.
Beauty rising from the soil of cold December.
Tender new blanketing the Earth in abundance with pale yellow joy, reaching for the Heavens.
Seeing past the rusted bars and branches of death to a beautiful hope.
Always.
Joining Laura for the last Monday in 2012.
elizabeth w. marshall 