But Not Here

A conglomerate of wild flowers desperately guards the normally exciting, noisy stream

Large and small flowers, bushy, grassy, single stemmed, all drown the senses with amazing colors, all lean over the stream, embracing it for themselves, choking, slowing down the lively gush

Streams must pass and that is life

Desperately hoarding the lively, babbling water or a life’s running course only creates dammed up, silent, stagnate pools fit only for unwanted things

Streams must pass and that is life

The selfish plant life must be trimmed back, allowing the happy creek to bubble and babble on its way to God knows where…but not here

The selfish refusal to let go must be trimmed back to allow an aged father, who used to be a lively, bubbly human life, to flow on to God knows where…

but not here

From a beautiful but sad morning walk August 31st, 2017… I can’t stop my loved ones from flowing around the next bend and the next, any more than they can stop me.  That’s what makes streams and creeks so beautiful to us.  Enjoy the music of life while you’re in the presence of the magnificent rush…

Advertisements

Secret Prayer Brother

My Sweetie received a ball cap in the mail recently and he was so happy.  He said his Secret Prayer Brother had sent it.  I said, “Really?”  Maybe the men in the church had decided to set up a secret brothers encouragement group like the women’s secret sisters.  He said, “Me.”  I laughed.

A few days later, he was upset because we drove off to do our weekly grocery shopping and he had left his ball cap at home.  He likes wearing hats.  I started rambling about how I like to wear hats too and he interrupted, “It’s the cap from my Prayer Brother.”  Sentimental value.  Ha!

A Different Way

Drove to Boardman using State Route 9 to Highway 62 to Greenford to State Route 7 to Highway 224

Drove home the same way

The scenery in reverse

Trees, corn fields, barns, ponds, cattle, farm houses

When ready for the return to Boardman to complete business

I said, “Gotta go a different way.”

He said, “Which way?”

I said, “Highway  30.  Different scenery.”

Drove Lincoln Highway 30 to Lisbon to Freeway 11 north to Highway 224

Trees, corn fields, barns, ponds, cattle, farm houses

But different ones

The Present in History

(I had this experience back in May 7,  2016.  Just discovered it in my notes)

“Anything else for you? Okeedokee. If you need anything you be sure to let me know, ok?” The waitress made comments and asked questions at all the tables throughout the historic wooden stable room-turned dining area.

I watched her and the other diners, while I soaked up the clatter of plates being cleared off tables, feet thudding across the ancient wooden floors, voices and laughter drifting over from the different booths and tables in the Spread Eagle Tavern and Inn. I imagined hearing Lincoln’s voice chatting with people inside the inn proper, on his way to be president of the United States.

“Did you save room for dessert?” asked the waitress at one of the booths that used to be stables for horses underneath the hay loft.

Different Feathers

(I have a new parakeet,, a young one…)

Buzzard Brain gazed around, cocking his head at my

shirt and earrings. He hadn’t seen these colors before

on me, so I had to explain. “Buzzy, I’m a different

kind of parakeet from you. My feathers molt often,

coming back in different colors and textures, whereas

your feathers stay the same, even after you do molt they

come back the same colors in the same places. You are

like someone who has to wear a special work uniform.

We can still flock together, though, we just have variety.”

Moving Moving On

The babbling creek just across the highway creates its beautiful musical sounds because of the variety of obstacles blocking its path

large rocks; gathered pebbles; grass patches; high ground; fallen trees or limbs; curves in the land all drive the water to the right, then the left, splitting here, there, letting it join up to bump, bumble over them and fall off to crash, bubble, boil before straightening and moving

moving on

sought after musical sounds of water do not happen without obstacles

like the creek, I bubble over, around and sometimes split because of the death of loved ones or illnesses; falling off of job, career, environmental or governmental changes to crash, broil, and boil painfully until I straighten out, moving

moving on

treating these experiences as the means to bring enjoyment to others when they get close enough to hear me

(So, I say good-bye to my aunt, my mother, and an old friend as they move on ahead of me leaving behind memories of the beautiful music they made in life)