New Beginnings

Fools and Flowers

You see how the blossoms,

drenched in dew,

rise from last year’s

forgotten leaves?

How they lift their faces

to the new day

and drink in

the light?

Only fools

and flowers

are giddy enough

to rejoice

with their feet

already planted

in their graves.

Only fools

and flowers

and me,

drunk on life—

that heady stuff

which plies courage

through my veins.

--------------------------------------------

It has been a difficult few years, and, as I look back on my blog posts here, I realize that many of them are rooted in grief and loss. It has been important for me to process the deaths of so many beloved ones, and I hope that my reflections have also been helpful for others who are trying to come to terms with loss. 

Something has changed for me, though. Maybe it's a lesson that has been presenting itself to me again and again--one which I'm finally beginning to understand. Whatever the case may be, I feel that the time has come for me to move away from this blog, and to start one which does not focus so much on the past as it does on the present.

I will still post stories about growing up with my brother and sister here from time to time, but I'd like to invite you to visit my new blog, "The Mud, the Lotus, and the Pencil" at pencilblossoms.blogspot.com. It's going to be a "messy collection of thoughts on writing and transformation." The first blog is already posted--it's called "On Seeing."

You can find the link on the sidebar whenever you visit this blog. 

Thank you for making the journey with me in the past few years.  I wish you all the best, and hope you'll come along on this new path I'm walking (and writing about).

Enjoy the spring weather, and do as the flowers do: always find the courage to rejoice!

Heading for Shore

I took this photo on East Beach last year, and today I captioned it. Because it's one of those days. And because we've all been here. Tossed and worn down by life, wondering when the waves will let up. But look at the pic again. This beach is beautiful, isn't it? Look at the pebbles, all smooth and polished. They didn't get that way from sitting in a puddle. I'll let you extend the metaphor however you want. I'm heading for shore.

For Fal

 

Heart Work

I thought it was
a dagger
that brought me
to my knees
when I would
think of you.

And then the ache
of healing
was the stab
and pull of
stitches through

a raw wound.

But now I know
it was a
chisel in 
my heart that
carved the space
where I can

always find you.
I see you’ve
already
begun to
decorate
the walls.

http://www.designmag.it/foto/decorazioni-per-pareti-stencil-e-pittura_5911_2.html

Two years is a long time, and no time at all--it's hard to believe that Fal has been gone that long. My friend's life was much too short, but a loving and generous spirit never dies. She lives on in her family and in her friends--the ache of missing her is tempered by that knowledge. I like the image of Fal taking up residence in each of our hearts, creating a permanent space and making it beautiful--a place where each of us can find her, if we look closely enough.


Grateful for my time with you, my friend.