Hoping yours is at least as satisfying and joyful as mine has been, here's an offering I wrote today for whoever might care to read.
A very unlikely series of events brought me here
and it’s equally probable that I know exactly
how this whole cakeshow will turn out-
But I’m grateful that there are skies full of snow right now,
and rain falling from others while the sun blazes down in others
because I’m small and lucky to be here, again,
and small and hopeful to be here again.
I see things as I do, and hope for things I do
and glad I am that I am surrounded by blindingly good people
who make me feel like I’m huge and full of something worthwhile.
And as the wind can blow in all directions at once somewhere
on this blue dot on some edge of this withering cosmos,
my decisions will ripple a wee bit until they disappear
too soon for my hopes and too likely late for my aspirations,
though it’s good to be able to focus on this day.
In the lengthening of sunsets and snowstorms
into the perception of those who see them from where they are,
we can gain from each photon absorbed and neuron fired-
And having grown fond of that place from whence that moment fled,
the inspiration of breath and water and gasses can
potentially course the way between us,
but unless we save a moment for the glass shown darkly
crystalline, transparent and magnifying
though needful of a moment saved and spent in pause between
more than just one.
Within graves strewn across seas, mountains and fertile fields
our own ancestors pray in silence
without inspiration of breath or knowledge of ripples
their bodies from which we sprung are nevertheless still fertile
in blessing and consequence
having given each his or her full measure in love or hatred
In war or a sort of peace within,
for they felt as I do, and hoped as I do
and felt large and full of something worthwhile
as the winds blew and light shone through dark glass,small and hopeful to be here, again.
Far too quiet for aupplause, and irony seems to beg the snapping of fingers, so I will give a moment of silence and tell you: this was beautiful to read, and I am grateful to ponder. Words aren't enough, though you make them so much more.
This is Mom. Your Dad is typing this for me.
Just read the Christmas poem. Sorry it took so long for us to get in the blog. It was beautiful, eloquent. I was also able to read between the lines and hear the true meaning. I wish more people were able to read your work.
Maybe some time you'll be able to put it all together to publish. (I can still help, and always will.)
I like it. Made me happy and sad, both. But mostly happy to hear truth.
Genealogy, when done right, puts flesh on the bones of those before us . Fortunately as a child I got to spend time with my great grandmother’s brothers and sisters who all lived on the same street in Sugarhouse. In an attempt to figure out who all these old folks were who knew me, I started making charts beginning a lifelong love affair with genealogy. “S” always says we are all going to be a line on a genealogy chart before long, make it a good one.
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