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Posts Tagged ‘memory’

If Wishes were Horses

Posted in memory, Nature, Seasons, time, tagged , , on November 8, 2022| Leave a Comment »

The dried seed head of Allium cristophii is the size of a small cantaloupe. In bloom, the silvery violet florets create a globe atop a single stem that bears a strong resemblance to stars.  The common name of the bulb is Persian onion or “Star of Persia.”

Dried, the flowers that formed the sphere give way to a multitude of spokes, each ending in a star-shaped array that nestles a tiny niche of seeds within.

One such seed head resides in my office.  Dust is caught in its starry arms, even as its seeds quietly wait.

This seed head was once a magic wand in the hands of my youngest. I remember the last wish he conferred before he grew up and blew away in the autumn wind. That was years ago.

Only the wind can restore magic to this wand, and the seed wishes that remain. Stepping outside, leaves impatiently rustle under foot, the wind is high under a grey sky. I ruffle the seed head. The spokes break, the seeds are released from sleep to continue their long-lost journey, and the stem drops to decay.  Last wishes.

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The Spinner

Posted in memory, Reflections on the everyday, The Garden, time, tagged , , on September 26, 2022| Leave a Comment »

About 4’ in height, the garden spinner has three wheels of descending size.  Polyester ribbons affixed to each wheel were once brightly colored.  The flag at the base of the spinner, a stitched red ladybug atop a green leaf, points to the direction of the wind.

For the last 20 years, the spinner has held court in the corner of the summer vegetable garden using the breeze, or the winds blustering through, to proclaim its presence. A gentle breeze moves the largest of the wheels first.  A thunderstorm madly propels all three. 

The spinner delighted young children playing in their sandbox or tending the garden. It gaily provided ornamentation at their high school Open House celebrations.  And it stands now, bereft of color, but still fit, in its garden corner.

The spinner has welcomed and harvested the winds of two decades.  It awakens in the Spring, grows quiet as Summer goes to ground in Autumn, and dreams away the Winter in the garage.

At first glance, it is now a tired old spinner whose day has passed.  Is it an artifact too long held for its memory?  While it enjoyed its sunny days, the bluster that overtook this place blew away its color and its more nimble nature.  Visiting this summer, my oldest remarked on its longevity and rightful place in the garden.  Just now, a puff of air moved its wobbly wheels, as it easily pivoted to reveal the direction of the unseen quality that powers it.

The spinner remains.  As stalwart as the day I assembled its plastic and polyester pieces, it fulfills its purpose to translate what is unseen to the visible world.  Not as pretty, but still a structural, kinetic marvel that defies a date with the landfill.

Things change, and sometimes, things remain.

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And So We go

Posted in Eternal moments, Psycho-Bubbles, Reflections on the everyday, tagged , , on April 23, 2022| Leave a Comment »

Leaving this place today.

Leaving is always bittersweet to me.  A feeling I should not go, this is home, a wild desperate thought of stopping in my tracks to stay.

Time turned, the deep life and memory of this place lifted and wafted away on every summer day since I left. Nothing remains but the energy carried by me as memory.

Artifacts beckon, touchstones where I grew up, what I thought. Yet, like the faded memory of my mother, all that remains is the essence I confer.  This place no longer reflects me.

The lives of others are lived here now. Their time, like mine, just passing through.

Life is an extraordinary experience, each day its own hello and goodbye. And today, to this place, I say goodbye for now.

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From the Window Seat

Posted in Airplanes, Reflections on the everyday, tagged , , on April 16, 2022| Leave a Comment »

Flying through the sky I saw the distant shadow of this airplane against the clouds.  The shade tracked us into the distance and disappeared. I began to look closer and I saw…

A flock of cirrus clouds plying their way eastward beneath us

Endless rows of expressionless houses far below

The next state over, expansive tracts bisected by lonely roads

Still further, the checkerboard irrigation patterns of farming

A small town, a cluttered magnet from above

Wind turbines dotting in distant rows

Passing over the marshmallow fluff of a beautiful cloud deck

Wrinkles in the landscape below, a tribute to old elementary school salt dough maps

A jet passes us with ease at a lower altitude

The wrinkles pile up, then spread into flatlands

Small mountains look like exposed fossils of dinosaurs that once traipsed there

Arid, rolling brown land

Strips of brown and green soil, like a long row of exotic piano keys

Building clouds mirror mountains below

Another jet, passing through

The confused noodle of a dry streambed

Wheeling over mountains, the palette of the place I called Home. It’s spaciousness and tendency of quiet in magnificent wild spaces always present, even if I am not

The sun tracks across the lake, a blazing comet beneath me

New subdivisions, identical monopoly pieces

Old subdivisions, all colors, shapes, and conditions

Scrapyard, trucks and cars piled and peaceful in their final resting place

Rail yard, parallel lines stretch toward distant destinations

Rubber hits the road, touchdown.

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The Snow Blankets

Posted in Eternal moments, Nature, Reflections on the everyday, time, weather, tagged , , , on January 8, 2022| Leave a Comment »

Glistening clouds of snow blanket the ground, the roof, the roads.

You may know these mornings.  Quiet, a dog barking in the distance, conifers silhouette a deep blue sky brightening before an orange-stroked sunrise.

Winter storms pass, leaving moments of unsullied stillness. Beneath the blanket and cold, some things sleep, some perish, some wait – much like memory. Other than the energy of our blood and bones we are only memory. Some memories finally pass, others will only pass when we do.

The sun will soon dazzle the landscape with its untrammeled brilliance, blinding thought to anything but glory. Then the blankets will fray to fluid and reveal again what lies there. 

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Isn’t that the way life goes?

Posted in Nature, Reflections on the everyday, Uncategorized, tagged , , on September 30, 2018| Leave a Comment »

Moon

Moon and cloud

Cloud over moon

Cloud and moon

Moon

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Closing the door quietly

Posted in Reflections on the everyday, tagged , , on September 2, 2018| Leave a Comment »

The unassuming nature of the word “quiet” belies its importance in the smaller and larger matters of life.

Used to gear down a small child, describe an uneasy peace between adults or countries, demonstrate a quality of character, or illustrate the strength of a musical or other passage, quiet capably holds down its real estate in the semantic world.

Today, I closed my bedroom door quietly, to support the sleep of an older child who is off tomorrow to the start of the next year at university.

As I pulled the door to, the joy of his arrival, the sadness of his departure, and the giftedness of it all played into the careful maneuvering of the door.

Letting go of the handle, the scene sped forward to quietly closed doors in houses that are less full, and further on to the unbroken quiet of homes where years have emptied the beds of all but the elderly.

Yet quiet also beckons reflection. It conjures memory, pierces the veil of everyday illusion, and offers opportunity to sort and put pieces together—or back together.  Quiet is both a universal solvent and adhesive that is a close relative of time and perhaps even soul itself.

Though simple, there is a lot to the word “quiet.”

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I am sorry I missed you

Posted in Reflections on the everyday, tagged , on July 23, 2018| Leave a Comment »

Maybe we passed along on a street, maybe with somebody else
Or maybe a glance across a room
Wherever it was, I am sorry I missed you

Middle age can come at any old time
You can be all alone in a crowd
I did not see, and I did not hear,
And I am sorry that I missed you

On it goes, until it does not
It is how all stories are written
But here I am, looking out at the stars
And I am so sorry I missed you.

Maybe there’s time, and maybe there’s not
The choices, mistakes I made, I will bear
Perhaps I am a fool for thinking you’re there,
Either way, I am sorry I missed you

 

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Night

Posted in Nature, tagged , , on September 2, 2017| 1 Comment »

Night is when eternity comes to play – or is it just me?

A half moon, a few clouds, and the cicadas that signal summer’s end – cool enough now for open windows.

I am partial to the night.  With the passing of years, memories crowd the darkness, living like yesterday, or perhaps tomorrow, already in memory.

It has always seemed wise to me, to live in memory. To recollect how today’s words and deeds will play 20 years down the road.  Or at night, when the truth sits gently, without bumping into the glare of day.

The night tells it straight, for some that must be hell.  For me, it is good company, somewhere between now and then, here and forever.

 

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Night Air

Posted in Nature, Psycho-Bubbles, tagged , , , , on November 22, 2014| Leave a Comment »

Eternity is out tonight, crowding empty streets.

Time’s arrow, the young turn elderly, generations blend, age, pass.

Unnoticed except by some in the larger moments.

Perhaps it is the snowflakes.  Countless souls against the night sky.

Something in the air, eternity is out tonight.

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