The Art of Aging

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The Art of Aging

Holds mystery in the folds
Unfurls surprises from the hidden
Places of memories from
Girlhood, childhood and inbetween
Details
From long ago move from sepia toned
Images
Imagine a reframing of a life
Displayed in all its glory
Revealing what it stored up
Rooted in deep
Living
Someplace near a haloed edge
We teeter on the brink
And sense a gilding
Brush stroked over moments, laced
With pain and grief
Goodness gathers up the tattered
Faded
Dark age spots
Replaced now
A birth occurs within
Her
Life unfolding, wait
In case of emergency you may break
The glass
It is time
Emerges
Rotates on the very  edges of
A new and different dawn
Age will take her rightful place
A crown
Up on her head
Jewels for every moment
She waited years for her new birth

Joy,
In the end
The art of aging, a masterpiece
No science can explain.

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Serpentine Grace

serpentine grace

Before the sleepy’s rubbed and wiped away
At the start of  day in early May, leaves kick their feet
do a manic jig
Fast as the boys jitter bugging
when they returned from war

They tell through dance,
communicate the language of the trees
Leaves look like fingers too, another way
through the panes with sleepy eyes
I am deaf, they are signing
mysteries only trees can know

That with the winds comes a shakedown
It is the way of howling air, blustering power
and might, a change
Words that say what oaks, they know
the bending delivers strength
The branches carry messages for me

braille, for me, the blind one
The one who can not see
Planted in the eye of  storm, in the raging winds

That the dusty blows away
Hitches a ride on the tailwinds in the sky

Before the plans are made and prayers are eeked
And worry settles in the folds
At the outset of  new day

Grace is carried, dropped and settles
On the house, in which I live
And all that’s left for me
The one who simply cannot see

Is wind-blown trust
from the Grace Giver
Golden leaves now dance instead
Gentle musings out my window,

Wind and trees a joyful mix, whispering words

To walk the way that winds, not straight
It’s serpentine
though paved with grace.

Joining Sandra Heska King for Still Saturdays

and Emily for Imperfect Prose
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When Glimpses Are More Than Enough

The partialness and incompleteness seem to satisfy.

Its just enough for now. There is nothing lacking. No unfulfilled place of longing. In the moment.

The glimpses are more than enough.


Gazing a glimpse of blaze. The orange tells the heart there is a brilliant sunset over the river tonight. A glimpse of the beauty satisfies like the small bite of a foiled wrapped chocolate kiss. Its enough.

The wafer thin representation of His body in the open palms, a sign of saving grace. A sacred glimpse into the holy at the rail, with wine and murmurs of a transaction of love and sacrifice. Satisfy deep within the soul of man. It is monumental in its symbol, a glimpse into the Trinity and it is more than enough to wake up the heart of man to the weight of the moment.

This week I glimpse poverty, and grief. A glimpse is enough to awaken the heart of this woman to the weight of the world.

And I glimpse gratitude, hand-penned in black ink from her to me. And I glimpse friendship blended in a moment of prayer, mixed with death and poured out in sympathy. And it is enough to know the power of prayer and the sting of death. A glimpse into His presence in these moments of loss and suffering.

The portion is well-measured. By a God who loves and knows. That glimpses of love and joy satisfy for now. And in His wisdom, and in His love, in time, the glimpse will be more than partial.

There will be fullness. For now the glimpse is the full of weight of His glory. And mercy. And love.

The new moon sliver is all the soul needs to see to know. The full moon is on the way.

Glimpses of Grace quench the dry bones spirit. Glimpses of Hope restore broken Joy.

Peeks into the holy provide a fullness for the longing heart of the believer.

When glimpses are more than enough because we know the fullness of His Love is uncontainable and unmeasureable and unfathomable.

A glimpse is an exponential panoramic technicolor view of His Glory for the eyes of this Heart that believes.

Looking with the lense of gratitude, the glimpse becomes a gift of seeing into the more.

And the glimpse looks like fullness and radiance of His countenance to me.

As I stare in Faith and marvel at the wonder of it all. The mysteries still are. The beauty still is.

And His Love is never-failing.

Linking with Jennifer and Duane today. Great communities, its a privilege to participate with these wonderful writers and their tribes.

And also with Ann at A Holy Experience dot com.