Slice of Life – Living In The Rain

tomatoe slice

Yesterday and the day before  revealed new mysteries of timing. And showed how life will unveil  tenderness and joy in the most unexpected moments. How the pulsing of a  day like any other, a breathing in and out day, can move from a cacophony of disharmonious clanging cymbals and banging drums to a sweet whispered lullaby of perfect harmony.

Yesterday we dodged the rain. It came in sheets, thunderous banging and torrential downpours. So we got into the rhythm of its dance. And moved with nature, less with self. Realized that circumstances and external conditions can change things and shape days, but won’t define us.  We longed for the sun and a day on the water, playing in the salt and sea.

Yesterday teased us with her starts and stops. So we synchronized our living around the rain. 

night on the water

We sought  breaks from the feeling of entrapment staged by  the downpours of rain, in torrents it came. We shifted Sunday paradigms and rhythms and kept holding out for a break in the storm.

So much of our lives is mirrored in these moments of stormy living. Seeking shelter from the down pours. Wondering when the gray will step aside and let the blues pick up their brushes and paint the skies a watercolor canvas of lapis and turquoise, sapphire and indigo.

Some days the passion feels dull and lifeless, the writing doesn’t come, the news is bleak, a wounding comes our way in the form of words, the deal doesn’t go through, the work is hard, relationships are bruised — thunder claps and ominous clouds roll in.

But in the midst of the  grays, I was given a gift. One of meeting my neighbor, an eighty year old poet. She and I chatted, I gave her a pie I had made. And as often happens when kindred spirits meet, we savored the common interests and threads in our lives. And laughed and talked writing and poetry and of gathering together often to just be and write.

I have a new friend.  A poet friend. A writing friend. And she came right in the midst of a storm. And I told her her house is my happy place. That when I look her way from my window, I smile. And know I am beginning  a new friendship with one who lives  her eightieth year of life. I expect we will be friends for life. And I hope it will be a very long friendship indeed.

Finally, there was a break. Yesterday. There always is  potential for hope. It came. Mercifully.  After the rain.

The wet and damp still  permeated our world. But hungry for the sun and a short boat ride, we made a break for it.

We adjusted. We shifted our expectations. Lowered them a bit. A glimpse of sunlight gave us new perspective.  So we launched and set off into the world. The way it was. The way it is. Accepting  imperfect conditions.

Isn’t it beautiful when  we  are surprised by joy. And unexpected  beauty rides in on the black sky, singing a song of hope and new mercy. We met up with friends, laughed at the funny story our neighbor told me of taking her dog to church. He followed her there and  so they sat in the back together. She made an impromptu leash and allowed him to stay. Amos the silly white rescue dog, seeking companionship. And giving an otherwise  rainy day a whimsical and comical twist.

Aren’t we all little Amos’. Don’t we want to be nestled, included, held and loved.

my bike 2013

The storm brought cool new air  as the sky showed off  her  collection of grays. And an odd prevailing moodiness lifted. The tempest in the air brought gusts and wind currents rocked us as we leaned into the windsong of the dusk. We will always remember the night we took this ride which turned Maine cool on the eve of a Southern July day.

On Saturday a chilly word rode in on a telephone line, bringing a storm into my world. And I was met with a memory of how I had hurt another. The clouds moved in quickly and I wrestled with me and with my words and theirs.

What a mystery a well timed word can be.  Because a few hours later healing  came in the form of written  words  delivering  encouragement and hope and signaling a new beginning.

If you stand in the morning, at a certain time, you can catch the most glorious light. It hits the hydranga which have just come in to lighten the mood and spill some beauty on the counter where the soul of the house will always live. The kitchen. Stand and catch the perfect morning light. And see glory come down. There is a mystery to this falling, more like a liquid pouring into a room. Light  changes everything. It reveals, it transforms. Lifting our mood, changing the colors, waking us up.

And so often  spilling in at just the right time.

And aren’t we all like my neighbor  dog Amos, longing for love, perfectly timed words of encouragement and affirmation. For love to shine down and scoop us up. Forgiveness extended and grace revealed no matter how scraggly, lost and limping we appear. And don’t we hunger for  a place to sit in church, one that welcomes and invites, even the rescue dog, sweet Amos.

How beautiful the Holy mysteries of this perfectly imperfect life. In and out of storms. Always seeking the Light.

Thank you Lord for anchoring us through the storms and tethering us to You in the midst of all that rocks our fragile world.

And  help us love an Amos in our world today, with the Love that carries us through the storms. And to  seek  love,  cultivate love, nuture love  even  in the companionship of a wise new friend.

morning light on flowers hydrangae

Joining my friend Laura Boggess at Laura Boggess dot com for her Playdates at The Wellspring

Bending Into The Blue

oak park tree my fave

bending into the blue

we’re dusted up a bit
after a storm blew through
roughed us up a bit too
the days cracked open like
a meteor fell from the
akin to the Russian one
the cracks wide
like caverns of crazy
and then death marched around
this place
in twos again, but it could be three soon
we’re dusted up a bit with
death and sadness

but we bend into the light
till the ground to bury roots
not heads
hold them high
toward the light, it pierces the dark
and melts the frozen sheets of sadness
the calm after the storm
can’t come soon enough
we look for redemption to sing loud soon

we are still dusted up a bit
like we were thrown off a horse at the rodeo
bruised the tender places
like the heart and soul
more than the backside
pain wakes up the sleeping
it rocks and jolts
cold water on the face wakes up the
ones dozing off into complacency
smacks the sleeping from their slumber

we were banged up a big
surprised by the sting
rocked by the moving currents
blizzard conditions prevailed awhile
bundle up hold on hunker down
when the artic blast comes your way
put the covering on, layers and layers of
the garment he gives
the full armour

but we bend into the blue
the color of strength
IBM chose it for a reason
the meek shall inherit the earth
and these are the days leading up to
more of it, redemption
the robin’s eggs and bluebirds will deliver spring
and songs will awaken the frozen earth
praise has a way of healing the broken
Lord we are ready, the table is set

we are bending into the blue
the color of heaven
we cried to them, the celestial places
loud and long, joined by a chorus of angels
we are certain we heard their harmony
we’re made strong when weak
because heaven heard and hears
our cries
he sees the sparrow and we are seen
bruised, busted, broken, blue in spirit

bend into the blue with me
the color of grace and mercy
there is melting of the pain
when the light comes down and warms our
frozen frigid frosty souls and hearts
out of the blue
the sting of death
has lost its sting
a bit

we are bending
and singing

into the blue

joining emily and the imperfect prose community for some words on redemption

Love, Grace – Letters From The Village


After the rain came, flooding the all around, nearly enough wet to soak a soul and start the preparations for the ark. And after the rain came and all seemed grey and clouds remained and the wet and dank just hung around. And after the rain which spilled like tears and did not give way to a rainbow this day. Nor offer a break in the raging storm.

Grace appeared. She cracked the shell of cloud soaked soul. And slid her gentle fingers through the slits and slats. And Grace broke through and Love did too.

The greatest of these still remains. On the front side back side middle of a mess. Comes glorious Grace on the wings of Love. The greatest of these, the always remaining, always was guarding and watching the heart as it was breaking. Determined to show Mercy despite all  the storms.

I know as I know true Grace always stays. Tucked in the shadows or out in full view. Signing her love notes in front of our eyes. Gentle, bent low to offer her peace. Spreading her soothing balm on the weary. Glazing the gaping wounds with the mercy which heals.

And leaving her sacred and certain mark on a man.

She signs her signature, cursive calligraphy, dignified, true. And you know you’ve been touched by her peace that transcends. And you’re left with a chorus of bold amens.

And  certain are you beyond a shadow of doubt that Grace was here, that Grace did appear.

You rest in the knowing that Love will prevail and win all the wars, each battle, each fight. That Love blankets the weary, the broken and crushed. And Peace like a river washes over your soul.

And somewhere, yes somewhere she leaves her sweet signature. As simple as that. Look for her markings all over the place. As simple, as lovely as two little words. 

Don’t miss it she leaves her mark everywhere. Open your eyes and see it written so plain.

Love, Grace.

The greatest of these will always remain.

mcvl close up lily fence

Joining Sandra Heska King for her Still Saturdays

mcvl third lilly and vine

still saturday button

The Land Where The Unknowns Live – (The Power of The Wind)

Cracking the door open a smidge and peeking back in for a moment or two. Oh the challenge of keeping the writers quiet with their paperless canvas, when all the world is swirling and brimming and blustering and shining.

Voiceless it cries,
Wingless flutters,
Toothless bites,
Mouthless mutters.

-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

The Land Where The Unknowns Live

the mt storms, the wind

She sailed her boat on the seas of life where the winds blew white capped waves

Deep cracks and crevices on broken seas crept over her vessel’s sides

She sailed her craft under a sky so grey, with tears on cusp of breaking edge

Salty, stockpiled and ready to roll

Stealing salt from the tops of waves

And she sailed her ship, solo, so alone

To a land where the unknowns lived

Under night dark skies, painted  charcoals, ebonies,  and slates

Highlighted in battleship greys

Mirroring the melange of a heart and soul

And the sails they flapped and flailed and feinted, tattered and torn

So weak and wobbly worn

Ripped under the power and might of the storms

The swirling howling honking sounds came

And the all arounds blew

Under its gale-force currents of power and might

The breakables broke and the sediment shifted

While the trees they snapped, the roots gave way

As the wind tears all that’s shallow and weak

And the limbs bent, broke, tumbled, tossed

Then felled

As the howling power, like a runaway train

Brought the loose things loose while the winds swept the land

And carried things off in a current of cleansing

As the wind blew through, cutting a jet black night

But oh the morning it brings the new

A cleansing of a dark and broken soul

And rolls back all black

And saves the tears for some

Other day

And shines the light of Joy on all dark

As the sun shines radiant through the trees

The wind blows fresh through the cheeks puffed full

Of Hope through the land where the unknowns live

So she mends her sails, or did He mend them for her

And  re-rigs her boat, or did He repair that too

Her working parts and pieces

Sending her off on a journey new

On a sea of redemptive swells

Where the pitch and toss

And the windswept new bring Hope to a journey, new

Fueled by the breeze so gentle and soft

Of a kind and whispering wind

Touching tender the cheeks of the smiling face

Of the land where the unknowns live.