LIVING LIKE LEAVES

     As I was watching some leaves skipping in the wind this way and that across the grass this morning, I thought about the back-and-forth skipping my life often does. Time and again, I seem to bounce around from plan to plan, promise to promise, goal to goal – happily giving myself permission to change my mind, double back, rethink things, take a new trail. One fine idea gives way to a finer one. One second I decide to take the trash out, but then, in a flash, I do the dishes instead. At 9:00 I know exactly what I want to do this afternoon, but at 9:01 a

"Autumn Landscape", oil,
by Heidi Malott

more wonderful plan appears. Back and forth, here and there, this and that, one thing and then another. Leaves let themselves loose to the winds, and so, sometimes, do I. Life shifts and skips second by second, and – usually with a smile – so do I. 

WATCHING THE FIRE

He watched the flames surround the logs and flare

and fall back down. He didn’t think, review

his list, or plan ahead. His only care

was watching sparks and smoke fly up the flue,

and then to who knows where? Could pieces of

this fire float out to distant lands? Might planes

pass sparks that came from this small hearth, and love

it like a special sign? Could fears and pains

in far off towns be cured by sparks that flew

to them and shined as brightly as they shined

among the flames?

                   

                  His life now seemed brand new.

The flames were like the thoughts inside his mind.

WHEN HE RETIRED

(A Sonnet)

When he retired, he missed his students’ care

and kindness, all their little gifts of true

respect which always helped him see and share

their goodness. Every day was fresh and new

when students shared his classroom and his love

of books and words. But, in retirement

he had someone who seemed to be above

all things that came before. They turned and went

their way together, sharing happiness

and worry, giving gifts of seasoned joy

and understanding, which they used to bless

each others’ lucky lives. He was a boy

with her, and she was now his steady girl.

He lost his students, but he found a pearl. 

  

QUIET MORNING

It was a quiet morning,

perfectly made for making happiness

in partnership. The trees

seemed to be joyous

in each other’s presence,

bringing their branches

as close as possible,

and the blueness of the sky

seemed happy to hold its light

lightly just above the houses,

as if in friendship, while

she and he shared words

"Morning's Promise",
oil by Roxanne Steed

with kindness across a table.    

AMAZEMENT

He is full of amazement.

It amazes him, for instance,

that he is lucky enough to be alive

on this fine-looking planet,

lucky to look at his wife

raising the blinds on another

amazing morning, lucky to listen

to the furnace filling the house

with warmth. He admires

so much – the way his pencils

seem wonderful for writing,

the feel of his flannel shirt,

the unfurling of a friendly day.

Amazing! he says to himself,

and sips his remarkable coffee.

  

THOUGHTS ON VETERANS DAY

"Grateful Thanks", watercolor,
by Julie Ford Oliver   

I am not a veteran, and, like most of us, I despise war, but this day, when we honor the men and women who served to keep safe our freedoms, is a very special one for me. I am beyond grateful for the liberty I am lucky to enjoy here, and for the faithful protection provided by our armed forces. I wish we didn’t need women and men with weapons watching around the world to safeguard us from attack, but contempt and loathing for our country does exist, and I’m glad we have good soldiers, sailors, and flyers ready to fight for all of us. I’m lucky to live in a land where freedom can be found by anyone, and I give thanks today for that freedom’s defenders.     

PUTTING HER GARDEN TO BED

A sonnet

He cleared his mother’s garden in the fall,

the one he planted in her memory.

It was a special place for him, a small

reminder of her thoughtfulness. At three

o’clock he finally finished. All the piles

of withered blossoms lay in heaps beside

him, but he smiled because her loving smiles

seemed right beside him too. She had supplied

him with the love to last a lifetime, and

the garden was his way of saying thanks.

When spring arrives again, a fresh new land

of flowers will arrive for her. Whole banks

of blossoms will be flourishing in ways

a mother's love is given-- in bouquets.

CHOOSING A PAINTING FOR WINTER

"Morning Grace",
oil
by Roxanne Steed

CHOOSING A PAINTING FOR WINTER

(a sonnet)

The wind was howling and the trees were bent

and almost broken down. The day was fierce

with autumn’s spirit and desire. It sent

a message meaning winter’s chill would pierce

their world soon, but they were snug and warm

with summer in their hearts. They hoped to buy

a painting full of comfort. In a storm

of snow, the painting would be a bright sky

of summer in their home, a sunny day

above their mantel, a scene so full 

of August light that it would chase away

the season’s icy mistiness. To pull

themselves from winter back to summer, all