No More Happily Ever After’s

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Welcome to Day Nine.

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No More Happily Ever After’s

And they lived happily ever after
Wait, what?

All those precious years spent
The clock tick tock
Tick, ticking
Wishing and waiting for
The grand grande finale
Life put on hold while things become bigger,
And better and bester and bestest
All those fair tale endings
Their endings so perfect
The slippers and princesses and knight’s
In their bright shiny armour
I sort of like things just the way
That they are

Even if sometimes
They seem dull, dim and plain

Maybe it all was a crock of baloney
Maybe Hans Christian Anderson or ole Walt
Yeah, Disney
Or dear  Mother Goose
Or whoever dared write it
Should have sat up and noticed
All the wild and the wooley, the winsome
The wonderful spilling out on the now
Like paint from a bucket tipped from the sky
Because I spy
With my little pair of hazel green eyes
The craziest most wonderful things in
A day
There are white standard poodles
Seated in cars
Blazing
Through busy intersections
Sitting up straight as a board in the passenger seats
In open convertible cars
It struck mommy as silly
And tickled her funny bone
As we drove all the way home

You can’t make this stuff up
Dear for Pete and
For heaven’s sake
A capuchin monkey’s having lunch
Out on the Parkway
With his owner
Seated out on the deck

The scandalous, humorous right here right now
Stop and wake up
In the middle of this one crazy life
The what’s happening this minute
While we’re off in a fog
Dreaming of perfect
And all the incredulous make-believe
After’s are not after
No, they are what’s just right here

In the mannered South where I was raised
To be oh so polite
Never abrupt, rude or
God-forbid loud
Or question my elders
I would just let it lie or lay or
Whatever

But the theology of the whole notion
Is just a little too off
And the cost well the cost
Is much too high to pay
You pay with your life
If you don’t enjoy this one glorious day

I’ll take my happily’s
Now, at lunch
By the deafening train track
With red bugs and yellow jackets
And Dementia, seated to my right
And all the uncertain rest
Of it
All

I’ll take my happily’s
In the comings and goings
And the dull inbetweens
The murky uncertainties and the worry and pain
The cancer, the divorce, the loss and the rest

I’ll look for the happily ever’s
All over the place

For me the ending of today’s well-lived story
Comes in the miraculous the beautiful
Found in
One very flamboyant
Fall tree

That caused me to slam on the brakes of the car
And stop at the urging of mother
Stop
On the side of a steep mountain hill
Stop in the middle of one thin hilly road
Stop dead in our tracks

And capture this moment
With one very long stare

The epitome of Joy
On a plain old Thursday
We sat and we drooled and we sighed
Just look at this

Our happily’s some days
Come in the form
Of tree’s whose leaves
Look like candied corn
Covered in
Technicolored leaves
Displayed against a canvas,
An
Azure blue sky
Sacred
Majestic
Pointing us heavenward
And reminding us

Look to the trees with their magnificent Glory
And leave the happily ever after’s
To those old
Children’s stories

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Joy — The Beauty Of Surprise

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Your visit breathes joy into this series. Such a pleasure to have you here. To read this series in its entirety click on the page tab on the home page entitled #Write31days2014-Postcards From Me – Elizabeth W. Marshall

Thank you for choosing to spend a moment here.

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 Joy – The Beauty of Surprise

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Joy, multiplier of Surprise
I cup my hands and close my eyes
For when my soul has written every
Line and verse
And ended stories,
Blinded, my own way
You step out
From behind
A dark and shadowed
Hiding place
Hidden under beds of dormant bulbs
Blanket mulch, a cover for
Your loveliness
Quilted warmth, a shield
Made of
Fallen parchment maple
Royal veiny oak

Leaves,

From gradient golden guilted shades
Paprika, hydrant red, yellow of
A yielding sign
Pantone’s infinite color wheel

The ending is no longer mine
Joy is colored
By Surprise

Wave on wave of Joy
Crashes like a tidal wave

Carves out the old
The former things
With steady surgeon’s hand

You parse and peel
Remove the dead

Redemption’s steady hand
The tool with which you operate

Mercy, signs the Artist’s work

The Beauty of Surprise
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The Noticer

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The Noticer

It was in the fall that I noticed. Again. But it was different this time. The yard had been raked in a suburban monochromatic sweeping. Overly antiseptic. The way the neighbors might  approve. But in a way that appears boring. Void of creativity. The kind spilled out from heaven. Released, unfurled by the hand of Artist God.

And it was then that I noticed. The brushing aside. Made manifest in my yard. A physical representation in the form of dead leaves. Brittle. That heart of God on my yard. The mosaic, the fallen tapestry of gold, sienna, burnt orange pieces had been raked up. Msn moved the art of God. There on the canvas of my autumn day, a mosaic laid in love was moved in uncaring haste. To sanitize. To bring man-made order.

The leaves had fallen just so, placed, by a holy hand. The Creator had, was it by design, offered a masterpiece of autumnal muted hues, surrounding me with glory come down. And we, in an effort to re-create our own standard of beauty, had brushed it aside. It was then that I noticed. What a mistake the rearranging might have been. I saw, what it feels like to be invisible.

To be brushed aside.

And I am touched by holy noticing, once again.

Thankful for the nuances of ordinary life. The subtlety of beauty. And the generosity of the Giver. And the gentle reminder, to notice.

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Joining Jen at SDG

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Simply Be

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Looking out into a sea of earthen brown, she saw a single winsome yellow leaf. And yellow seemed to be the color of still. Shining light where hope had faded, lost in the shedding of the trees. And now she understands,  the power of yellow. Now that she has stilled her heart,  and wandered into the noticing. The leaf,  it floated to the earth like a magic carpet bearing gifts.  Gifts for those who long for stillness from the ache of busy. “Be still with me” the leaf cried out “and join me while I rest, stay with me and together we’ll celebrate the yellow happy stillness. ”

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Today is Day 24, ready, set, go notice

dedicated to Nancy O. Franson, new lover of noticing and poetry. Old lover of yellow.