Nature of Longing

We loved away pain as rain poured around us
Heat of desire keeping us dry
How great was the need:
we for each other, our chosen
And now, as time goes on, the intensity wanes

Come back! Come back!
How we long for the racing hearts and delighted glances
How we long to be reignited
Fresh in love and full of purpose
like Spring: fresh green bursting forth
in rising desire and beauty

Love Story

Love story of Johnny and Viola began in Spring

He showed up in the garden unannounced

Covered in leaves and bits of straw, she hid beside a rose bush

He faced the filtered sun, smiled, waited and waited for Viola to show her pretty face

They share a name and striking good looks

Love story lives in the garden

Springing up with hope

Captivating us with wonder

And the beauty of another season reborn

Transformations

Winter has been upon us in Central Oregon for six weeks with several feet of snow, ice, biting wind, and many more cloudy skies than usual. Confined indoors more than I like, I have more time for winter pursuits: often writing. I’m struggling with putting together a book of short stories and poetry. Meanwhile, I’ve reorganized every cupboard and closet, rearranged furniture, touched up paint. I’m sewing: repurposing drapes into a bedcover, re-fashioning several curtains for different windows. I’m working my way to warmer weather by creating transformations!

While preparing that pesky book, I’ve gone through old collections of writing. I found many barely there starts so bad they were destined for the paper recycling bin. Yes, paper! Until two or three years ago, I wrote everything longhand on sheets and scraps of paper. Often they were barely decipherable scribbles. Just jots of emotion or ideas to flesh out later. Most were fleeting in substance, but I kept them. Boxes and boxes of scrawls!

I’ve also unearthed some gems. And they took me back in memory. One is of a woman I met in long term care. Her name was Eleanor. Barely ambulatory, she rode the bus to the care facility every week to help with our activities. Eleanor’s smile was always ready, though she often moved with great pain. She helped residents with bingo when they were unable to move their pieces on the large cards. And she disbursed treats, and sometimes danced when we had musical entertainment.

One day with many illnesses in the facility, it was just Eleanor and I with time to chat. Somehow we began talking about writing. I was surprised to learn Eleanor loved poetry. She promised to bring a poem she’d written years before for her husband. Weeks went by. Months even. I began to suspect Eleanor would not be able to share it: her thinking at times seemed clouded and she missed weeks of volunteering due to her own illnesses and deteriorating condition.

And then one day, she brought a small piece of paper with the penciled poem.

Chrysalis

I was a chrysalis

Snug, secure, unborn.

You came – and the warmth of you

Stirred being that feebly strove

‘Gainst quiescent unyielding things.

And the New broke through –

And the Bonds were shed –

And Life opened beautiful wings.

Eleanor Lain Wilson

 

Isn’t that lovely? It conjures images of transformations, of young love and passion. And it sends me straight to Spring!

Wonder-filled November

I’m finding a wonder-filled November. Winter is coming with crisp air and biting wind. When the sun is out, I’m lingering in the garden and discovering surprises! Summer is still here, hanging on in smiling blooms. My eyes “breathe” in the colors I can’t let go. It may be winter, but already I am waiting for spring!

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