Last Poem of 2013: Looking Forward to 2014

The world will become 2014 In a few short hours I don't want fireworks and explosions I want peace, contentment, and love To hang upon my shingle To shine in my heart Expand in my mind Radiating out on ripples To touch and transform Burn and purify Like a Phoenix rising from ashes To love, to live in peace, and contentment.

A Week In Winter by Maeve Binchy

During the first week of Christmas Break I was able to balance time between shopping, going out with friends and family, wrapping presents, and reading. The key here was that I was in balance, just listening to nature's rhythm, my rhythm, the rhythm of my soul. I was able to do what my heart desired. I am a voracious reader, I always have been. My Mom read to me when she was pregnant with me, and it continued all througout childhood. Some of my most cherished memories are of Mom and I cozy in a chair together, with her reading to me. She taught me the love of reading, she herself still reads several books a week. I am a teacher and I pass my love of reading onto my students. I'm also in a bookclub. I love the members of the bookclub. Our shared love of reading and friendship bind us togehter. I read books for bookclub and I also read books, then share with the group, we all do that in our bookclub. I recently finished, last week actually the last book written by Maeve Binchy: A Week In Winter. It is idyllic Bed and Breakfast set in the wilds of Ireland. The setting is idyllic, yet the inhabitants are fraught with misunderstandings. The premise of the whole novel is built on misunderstandings. You are introduced to three elderly ladies: The Sheedy Sisters as they are called. These three ladies have lived in the same house, the same town, the same country all their lives. They were happy women, but longed for something more in their existence. Two of the Sheedy sisters pass, leaving one Sheedy behind. We learn later on, the last Sheedy reveals that in their late teenage, or in their early 20s a fortune teller told their fortunes. She said that they would each marry and have their hearts broken. They revolted against this news by never marrying, therefore the fortune was false, but yet they each passed with regrets. The main character Chicky meets, and falls in love with a vacationer. She follows him back to America, where they spend four months living happily in New York City. He doesn't intend to marry her. They part ways. She goes to work at a Bed and Breakfast in NYC with her family back in Ireland. She tells them, convinces them for years and years that her husband is doing well. When Chicky's neice and friend were coming to America to visit her, Chicky says yes initially they could come, then she makes up a story to tell them. She says her husband has passed in a fiery car accident on the New York expressway. Eventually she moves back to Ireland where she helps the last Mrs. Sheedy to redo the house and set it up as a Bed and Breakfast. Then they begin to have visitors. Heartache of some type plague the visitors and Stone House Bed and Breakfast is just the balm for their soul. It is a place of healing qualities and second chances. From the two doctors who have had heartache after heartache, to the aging tired actor they all need healing of some kind which they find at Stone House. Very good read. It was a wonderful book, from the first page until the last page.

I took this pic last year.  With the hint of Fall in the air, I want to feel the season in it's fullness. 

A few weeks ago I joined a writing meetup.  I was at the meetup with one other person, the founder of this particular writing conference.  As we talked, I realized I love to write, that's it.  I don't know the ins and outs of the writing business.  Overwhelmed by the information I received, I put down my pen, tucked my typing fingers under me and didn't touch creative writing for almost two weeks.  For me it's not about knowing the writing business, it is more about the expression of myself, the creative ideas that sometimes flow and are sometimes clogged some where in my psyche.  When the creative flow comes I'm thankful, when it leaves me I've learned not to push, but to nurture myself.  The thing is, I haven't learned this lesson well, so I have to relearn nurturance of my craft every time it is flighty and leaves me.  What I do know is that the creative well will open again in it's own time, in it's own way, all I can do is be unguarded, able to witness the creativeness as it unfold.  Thankful for all experiences!

When I woke up this morning I thought of this photograph I took last Fall on a hike.  Here is the poem I wrote this morning:

Morning dawns softly
Light unfurling
Tree branches
Sway, dancing shadows
Cascading into the light.