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Showing posts from 2019

wind child of autumn

It's the last day in October, Halloween. The slant of the afternoon sun is low. My backyard is filled with so much sun in the summer, but now it wears long shadows from the neighbor's trees. wind child, unseen, nevertheless felt no origin or home wind child comes and goes, disturbing all she blows through and past over and under, tossed and turned wind child blusters and plays a mirthful game of hide and seek The wind is loud in the pines and junipers; melodic in the aspen that still holds onto a few leaves. Curdled clouds are blowing in and my cup sits half full, milky and sweet. autumn:  a period of maturity verging on decline the free dictionary.com Most of the leaves have fallen and gathered themselves into messy piles around the yard; a last magnificent burnished hoorah before everything becomes shades of grey dusted in white. So, this afternoon I'll relish the faint warm rays as they touch my face, watch the shifting shadows play across t

i'm glad i know you

After taking a writing hiatus this summer, it's time to be back. Just like I'm ready for a change of seasons, I'm also ready for a change in mindset and habits. Summer brings camping and picnicking, farming and kayaking. I want to be outside every possible waking moment. My journals collected a lot of dust. And my thoughts drifted over how to combat aphids with ladybugs instead of putting ink to paper. Now that I'm sitting with a long-sleeved t-shirt on, but still a pair of cut-offs, I'm ready to tap out some observations, introspections, quips, quirks and everyday stories. Thanks for reading. Thanks for listening to part of my life. Around the corner, and a few houses down, live two little boys. They like playing barefoot, no matter the weather. Curiosity is ingrained in them, and Bella always gets lots of love when we walk by. One recent morning I was told they were going to the river to climb over big gray rocks and look for crayfish and snakes. The yo

this farm. this field. this place

I sat down in a field to write. It had been recently mowed, the bales already removed. The stubble was coarse and golden with a few seeds scattered here and there. Eventually, birds will eat them or they'll become part of the next crop. The air was warm on my face, and I could hear crickets singing. It was bucolic and pastoral. In the distance stood the old red barn. It used to house cows and pigs, and a store of hay for the winter. Now, a few jumbled things are left inside, and the only creatures are spiders, field mice and swallows. A moss covered bird feeder swings in the gnarled apple tree. The small orchard is old , yet after all the years, it still yields fruit for the picking. This place. This farm. This field holds many memories for me. My Granny's fried potatoes and squash, Papa's big old watermelons, cows gently grazing and chickens pecking around before becoming dinner. Cast iron bath tubs were used as watering troughs. We kids used the

the struggle, the prayer

hands grasped, clutching, struggling it was just out-of-reach frustration, try again not to be defeated or disappointed it was right there attempts thwarted, why the obstruction it remained unattainable                   and slipped into oblivion When I find myself in times of trouble...let it be ...an appropriate Beatles song to hear in relation to these penned words. People are struggling, coping: to succeed, to climb, to flourish, to acquire or to merely survive another day, month, year. We all need hope. Tangible hope. Something that won't slip away. What's tangible, anyway? Real, touchable, actual, nothing ethereal, but something to lay our hands on. I need that. You need that. We all need that. Lord, help us. Give us hope. Give us peace. Give us love and patience, concern and compassion. Be within our grasp, don't slip into oblivion, or let us slip into oblivion. Missy    If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by

road tripping: finding the elusive derrick cave

I was beginning to wonder whether it really existed. Maybe it only existed in the distant dreams of mountain men and bats leaving guano against lava walls ; tubes and tunnels and caverns weaving a web underground. It all began innocently enough while exploring cracks and crevices outside of the area surrounding Fort Rock.  We'd gone on a late season camping trip with some friends. You know the type, where nights are cold and stars are visible in the ink above, with days breaking into sunlit skies and moderate temperatures. The initial destination was Crack in the Ground and a roadside diner in Christmas Valley that dishes up darn good Reuben sandwiches. Like most park sites, there's always a map and legend with other scenic spots to check out. And, one such sign told of a cave that was cold and needed reliable illumination. The name, the words, set the marble into motion - the quest which became a crusade to find Derrick Cave. It seemed real enough. There wa

cool girl

I started to clean the house.  It's a weekly routine, dusting, vacuuming, the regular stuff, basically mundane. And I couldn't seem to focus, flitting from task to task like a moth searching for light. Cool, down-tempo music beat in the background.  You know, the kind of stuff you'd hear at a totally chill night club. That's where the pretty people go to sip pretty cocktails. And here I was in jeans with a hole in the knee and a baggie sweater. I sat down for a cup of Chai and picked up my notebook; abandoning the cleaning. I allowed myself to be transported by the acoustics to that vibing club. In my imagination, I walked in pulsing to the sounds. I wore a mod black slip dress, hair slightly messy with sun-kissed bare arms and legs. Several years ago I might have pulled this off. Now, as an old woman, I still have the down beat in my soul and the messy hair; my legs and arms are waiting for the sun to come kiss them. Inside, I'm a cool girl. H

i'm circular

Ever feel like you're living in a roundabout? Where I live, we have several. They move traffic well, except when they don't. And of course, we all remember the scene from European Vacation where Chevy Chase keeps going round and round the Arc de Triomphe. There seemed to be no way out of the never-ending circle. i'm circular my weary mind a looping maze all the paths it wanders come back to the same spot i try to jump out of the hamster wheel as it spins faster, but the centrifugal force holds me, stuck Yeah, that's me. I'm circling around. Going through motions, held in place. Why can't I slow it down or make it stop? i'm circular revisiting habits and manners of being how do i shatter those patterns so ingrained rutted in the psyche pushing hard on the lines that inhibit and restrain one hand reaches through a thin place As hard as I try, we try, the same stuff keeps coming up and back around. I become indistinct in the same grooves.

winter had confiscated and concealed

It's a snow day, and boy I'm having a hard time focusing. Darn Ground Hog. He didn't see his shadow. That should mean spring's coming early. Heck, in January we had spring. The end of February however, has brought old man winter back.  I use the hashtag " #doilikesnow ." That's a tricky question, one that appears simple at face value; yes or no. The ruse occurs in the answer, since I'm more gray than black and white. I dig a powder-sugar dusting of snow and pendants of icicles lining the roof edge.  Silhouetted trees with snow clinging to bare branches, catching where limbs meets trunk are simply grand. And, I relish the solace and silence that a snow day creates. All winter dreamy stuff, right?  very small, insignificant snowflakes drifted down swirling casually before obscuring the dirt, pavement, the people it was quiet and subdued all you could see was white no definition between sky meeting earth everyone, everything

reflecting, remembering, reliving uncle kenny

Reflecting. My uncle passed away last night. He was my one and only uncle. My mom was an only child. My dad had one sister. So, I had one uncle. Uncle Kenny was a military man. When I was young, I thought it was so cool that they got to live in Germany. I didn't even know where that was, but it was somewhere I'd never been; still haven't. Almost five years ago, my hubs and I took a road trip to where I was born. It had been scads of years since I'd been to Lakeport. However, I found where my grandparents lived - along with my uncle, aunt and cousins. I thought about the grand adventures Terry and I had. The house no longer existed, but the plot with block retaining wall and outdoor barbecue did. Returning from a jaunt overseas and to Texas, my cousins landed in the Olympia area. We'd take trips up the I5 corridor to see them. In return, they'd travel to Eugene where our grandparents had a farm. As kids, we'd play for hours in the woods and walk w

a cool and mindful word: hygge

I woke to the sun streaming in through the over-sized window in the living room. Cupping my coffee, I closed my eyes and soaked it in. It was such a welcome relief to the previous day's fog that kept everything cold and frozen; huddled in against the grey. Stepping outside I could feel the slight warmth of the sun; my shadow elongated due to it's southerly slant in winter.  Even the birds were more chipper, singing vibrant melodies and flitting about. A few squirrels ran up and down bare trees. Isabella was playful with her nose to the ground and butt up, only to flop down and slide and roll in the remaining snow. I don't mind a little hibernating in the winter. It's a great time to catch up on some reading or to enjoy a hot drink of sorts with a friend. However, I do love the sun shining bright, making me squint. It enlivens the spirit when everything is monochromatic and dormant. The Danish have a cool word - hygge - pronounced hue-guh. Hygge acknowledg