What a week – not one predicted, but the one that waited upon Monday’s door. The world was to be filled with the mundane—the workaday tasks, the welcome routine. A one hour commute to and from work each day. Grocery shopping for the weekly menu. Walking the dog. Whacking the weeds that grow more evident once the lawn is mown. Washing the loads of laundry that appear out of nowhere…not to mention the dishes that fill the sink wells. However, being ushered in to the new week, a goal was set before my soul…to walk in ascent to the One who created. Now, as Friday winds down, tasks now done…no feelings of weariness from the weight of the world; rather, strength from the Light of Heaven, to do it all again.
focus can change when one changes focus to the One
Instant pots and next day deliveries. Bullet trains and watch phones. Alexa and Siri. Everyone is in a hurry for whatever it is they want. The pace of this rat race could have me on the road to the chiropractor to work out the kinks of stress. Instead, I take a deep breath of fresh air coming through my car’s windows and drive until there’s more grass than concrete…and exhale my troubles away.
four walls closing in
retreat to the countryside
turn the quiet up
Where dirt roads were without directions or landmarks (unless you were from there, then you knew to turn at the corner where Kenneth’s house used to be). How often I traveled the six dusty miles into town. There, streets had stop signs instead of stop lights and were lined with houses that I knew what they looked like inside, and who was sitting around the kitchen tables (many of them, my relatives). Life took me far from there, four states away, and my time spent on those dirt roads and quiet streets have been few and far between. On Mother’s Day, my voice travels back on a different path, to be at that place once again…I’m grateful for the visit by phone, but there’s no place like home.
the road less traveled
is the one that takes me home ~
time to plan a trip
My poetic journey is nearing its seventh year mark. It began as my fingers walked over the keyboard, composing the first entry on my shiny new blog. I was surprised more than anyone when what my eyes saw forming on the screen was more like poetry than prose. I suppose the poetic words that danced in my head as a child were always there inside, but decades of dormancy were ended that day (as I sat with my laptop in a waiting room for jurors). My words have since Whirl’d me on a poetic path through gardens and cyber pubs, down poetic streets and back again. And I will be forever grateful for the friends (nay, family) I’ve met along the way.
by writing even more words ~
my poetry blooms
Each day spent here on the seventh floor, surrounded by paper and pens, it’s only my mind that wanders on a journey, past my potted plant and kitty tchotchkes, while my derriere stays firmly planted in a chair. Through the window I wander past the empty corner office across from me (one floor down) and out into the sun-filled street below to the adventures that await.
the places I could go
were it not for the job I need
to pay for it