The Writer’s Moon


Last night I opened the door, encouraging Doodle dog to visit the pines before it was time for bed.  Cool, crisp air welcomed me.   So inviting it was, that I stepped onto my patio which was lit from above.  High in a sky of filtered shadows was the moon, round and bright.  Gazing up at this wonder, it shined like a beacon guiding ships through darkened seas during stormy weather.

This time of year I expect the moon to be painted in golden-yellow, the color of spaghetti squash picked while visiting a pumpkin patch.  A harvest moon, if you will.  Yet, last night the moon appeared bright white.  I wanted to reach up to pull it’s invisible chain of beads. On-Off…On…Off.  Like a switch to the bulb over my kitchen stove.  Even behind silken clouds waving in the wind, the moon seemed fluorescent, illuminating all of my surroundings.  A snapshot of what was to be.

Doodle dog and I wandered off to bed.  Wooden blinds were pulled tight, their cords dangling to the right.  Slippers tossed on the floor.  Soon under a quilt fluffing pillows stuffed with feathers.  One or two quills poking through.  It had been a long day and I was ready for sleep to blanket my dreams.

I tossed and turned for hours it seemed.  The moon of white would not let me be.  My bedroom was bathed in moonbeams!  There, to the right, was the source.  Slits and slats between window blinds hung from the wall.  When Doodle dog began to howl, I finally sat up.  Hopped out of bed to trudge down a hallway towards my office space.  There, a keyboard waited patiently atop my desk for fingers to tap letters upon a blank computer screen.  Suddenly words ebbed and flowed.  Like magic.

The moon disappeared without realization.  Morning sun began to rise in the east, not quite ready to show its face above the hill resting behind my home.  A new day began to dawn without a bit of sleep the night before.  Doodle dog followed me back to bed.  Light didn’t seem to matter anymore.  Lids closed over sleepy eyes before I was out.

An invisible chain of beads….Off…On…On…Off.

*photographs courtesy of Google

Hidden Delight


Crinkled leaves beneath my toes

Colors tumbling across the road

Rolling in breezy clusters

Pushed by God to the other side

Crinkled leaves beneath my toes

Wee children chasing to discover

Hidden delight out of sight

Trickling water, listen closely now

Cup your tender ear to hear

Crinkled leaves beneath my toes

Floating atop a stream of pebbled rocks

Hallmark hues glistening in the sun

Children peering to see what may be

Crinkled leaves once beneath my toes

Gently swirling, swaying, smiling up at me

fall road with stream

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*photo courtesy of Google

 

To Witness Imagination


Have you ever witnessed imagination?  Has it ever given you a magical feeling, perhaps a tingling inside or has it ever been so tangible that you could almost touch it?  Please, stay with me for a moment….

I truly did see imagination recently.  No, not in my dreams upon resting my head on a feather pillow in the quiet of the night.  Nor when I was alone, thinking silently to myself what I should begin to write.   The imagination I’m speaking of took place in the out-of-doors where red maple trees grow tall at the base of my little forest land.

The cast of characters played on a stage of thick emerald grass.  They consisted of my husband, our ‘Doodle’ dog, and my precocious grand-daughter of three and a half years.  It’s important now to add the extra ‘half’ at the end of threeYOU understand.  She was staying overnight together with her baby brother who I was feeding in a faded kitchen high chair, patterned in purple nursery rhymes.

Hearing screams of giggles and laughter, I looked out white double doors through panes of glass leading to the patio and beyond.  Doodles was chasing the little one dressed in jeans, her head flopping to and fro in natural curls as she tumbled on the carpet of green.  Grandpa picked her up by rubber heels to swing her back and forth while she shouted with glee.  As I tended to my grandson, helping him spoon vanilla yogurt dribbling from his mouth, he pointed to the window.  “Doo-Doos,” he smiled.  “Doo-Doos outside.”  Just then more shrieks began.  In that moment I gazed at imagination in play.

My grand-daughter was on the left, near a tree dropping golden leaves.  Falling…f.a.l.l.i.n.g. My husband stood a few yards away, clutching an imaginary string before he began to run around the yard, calling her to follow him.  Smiles lit her face from within, pink as cotton candy on a day at the fair.  She chased him around the yard with Doodles running alongside, barking through colored piles of leaves along the way.

Suddenly they stopped at a red maple tree.  It appeared as though the string had gotten caught on a branch.  Together they pulled and tugged, careful not to break such a delicate thing.  Finally, my husband reached high in the sky, above wooden branches and hidden crinkled leaves to untangle what only they could imagine.  Finally free, he handed it to my worried grand-daughter, who waited patiently below the tree.

Relieved, she beamed with joy, kissing her grandpa on a stubbled cheek.  There, he helped her touch the colorful kite, careful not to snap its hidden Popsicle sticks or break the string of white.  Together, they ran across the whole back of the yard, one last time before an open fist let their cherished kite fly free.  Up…up…up it went behind clouds of white into the blue.  As I watched from the warmth of my kitchen, I felt my heart sing from deep within my chest.

Never before did I love my husband more than on that very day.  He inspired our little grand-daughter’s imagination to come alive.  There’s no doubt in my mind that she believed everything about her Grandpa’s fantasy.  She felt it and touched it, played with it and lived each and every special moment within her imagination.

As my nose began to crinkle like it always does before crying with sentimental joy I thanked God for a new blessing.

I witnessed imagination…..!

kites

 

Falling….


fall flowersThe golden flower of fall has withered

Partly crisp and yellow under the sun

Petals droop

Soon, they will begin to fall

Slipping one-by-one to the somber soil of a new season

Mellow, it’s begun

Warm and wonderful under the sun

Waiting for what is to come

The golden flower now falling….

 

 

 

 

Cheers to Fall!


Recently, my family made a day visiting a local “Pumpkin Patch,” strollers and diaper bags in hand.  There, a whole Fall Fairground surrounded us of sorts.  Acres full of hanging fruit trees, big red barns and rows of tall, curled cornstalks colored in cream greeted us everywhere our eyes could see.  Scents of mulled cider wafted through the air together with funnel cakes and caramel corn.   Frolicking fun for everyone!

Under trees of colored leaves, Mommies held sticky hands of toddlers munching on crunchy apples dribbling juice-so-sweet.  Daddies carried bouncing babies on backs of sweatshirts rooting for favorite baseball teams.  And, children in all sizes wearing denim chased an old shaggy dog among rolling acres of an aged family orchard farm.

Together, the five of us took turns cuddling three babes, ages five months to 2 years.  Sitting on splintered wooden boards, we watched infant piglets run races behind straw bales of golden hay.  Faster and faster their mini legs ran.  This little piggy went, “Wee, Wee, Wee.”   Round and Round….who would win?  Wait to see!  A prize for everyone under three!!

Next we went to feed scraggly goats, precious calves and wooly white lambs fenced off in wires of metal grey.  “Look my innocents, watch Grandma now,” I said, holding hands with palms so flat.  Before a flash, a crowd of hungry mouths with teeth so big and wide came to crash!  Nibbled from tentative palms holding crumbled kibble in toasty brown, tongues larger than life lapped faster than quarters could buy.

At the end of the day, grandbabies played in mounds of hay.  Snap!  Magic moments happened within the click of a thumb and forefinger.  Teeny feet jumped in scattered piles oh-so-soft and oh-so-tall.  Giggles from deep could be heard for miles around.  “Poof!”  High into the sky.  Bits and pieces flew everywhere, like confetti on New Year’s Eve!  Arms of pink reached up with itty-bitty hands.  High, higher still.  Floating down, straws of corn-yellow in slow motion.  One…two…three, right by me.

Leaves sparkled in whispering trees.  Golden yellow, burnt orange and sizzling red.  Crisp and curling at edges.  Some falling.  Sunshine warmed faces through breezes from beryl-blue skies above.  Toys were not needed here.  Sippy cups tipped in unison.  Life so good.  Cheers!!  Ahhhhh…..