The Mirror of God

I sat on the back porch

early in the AM

holding my warm coffee cup

tightly in my hands

listening to birds sing

and a gator behind the fence

barking,

like gators do.

It should have brought me peace,

but I started to imagine

a mirror,

a mirror of God

that would face its observers with

a brilliant light

and a pure vision of all flaws.

I imagined particular people

sitting in front of the mirror,

politicians, family members, neighbors,

and I could see them... 

squirming.

Not cool I said to myself,

not cool.

So I placed myself in front of the mirror,

alone, and I slowly brushed my hair

and judged, 

just-

me.

It's going to be a very good day.

Christmas Poem 2023

 Christmas Poem 2023

Carolers sing Oh Holy Night

as this day fades to black

nudging us 

closer, closer

to the magnification of the Holy infant

born quite long ago.

Trees are cut.

Dinner's planned.

Gifts are bought.

Floats are manned.

The call goes out, make this one best!

But my mind hears a sound,

an ethereal request?

At least that's what the words suggest,

"Let the baby rest."

"Let the baby rest."

Merry Christmas!

Love, Linda

The Bucket

 

S/HE walked to the car with a bucket in hand.
Fill your bucket full.  It was never made for sand.
She put it on the floor behind the driver's side
and tucked her briefcase near it to stabilize its ride.
The traffic flow was heavy, so she turned the music loud, 
maneuvering with skill, she raced through the crowd.
Her mind never stilled as she traveled down the lane
turning left then right, her worries the refrain:
The lawn is brown; the heat is holding.
The market dropped and chipped the molding.
The spot on her arm had surely grown.
That caused alarm; she dialed her phone.
S/He pulled into the driveway and opened up the door
then bent and reached behind her for the bucket on the floor.
She carried it with deftness and set it down with pain
Some days it seemed so heavy; she wished that it would rain.
Then she sat down to dinner, her worries the refrain:
The lawn is brown; the heat is holding.
The market dropped and chipped the molding.
The spot on her arm had surely grown.
That caused alarm; she dialed her phone.
She had long stopped checking the content in
 her pail, but she knew it was full, so she must have done well.
So daily she did carry a bucket full of gold and soft flowing rain
and  the cure for feeling old, and she sat it on the floor,
 and she placed it on a shelf
never growing never knowing that her bucket was herself.

Dividing Lines

The August sky is not like other skies. It separates itself. Summer burns hot and brittle or wet and green. The August sky doesn't seem to care. The mix of clouds appears to happen at the flip of a calendar page. Tall, billowy, rising white and gray cumulus clouds mix at the perimeters of the west and the east. They darken and strengthen and push toward unseen dividing lines. Suddenly, they merge in the middle and crash into a symphony of light, wind, and rain, and then sneak off to another place, a place ready and thirsty for their waters or drenched and frightened of their output. Divided in opinions. Separate in locations.

The August sky is not like other skies. It brings to the forefront the first sitings of cold, wispy ice crystals and blue fields of grazing, white sheep. Not quite ready for the fruition of any kind of event from those soon-to-be fall and winter clouds, this 8th-month show of clouds teases us with what ifs and what is to come. Something we are beginning to be most ready for if the summer lags hot and sizzling, but a foreshadowing we dread if summer seems short on endless swimming days by the pool or sea and long on gray days packed with rain and mediocrity. Divided in opinions. Separate in locations.

This August's sky is not like other skies. It separates itself. It covers earth now driven by a maiden named La Nina. She is tough and sassy and has tossed humans about in flood waters and burned their homes to the ground.  She moves the currents in ways that bring sorrow to some and distributes sustenance that gives others joy and fills both hearts and bellies.  She confuses us with her repeating visits and makes us forget that each time she moves across our earth, its conditions creep toward harsher patterns. Patterns that somehow mirror our human hearts this August. Divided in opinions. Separate in locations.

Offered with prayers for unity and peace, Love Linda

Picture the Future

So, this is a picture of Bella, my granddaughter, in her first car.

Her little Wilma Flintstone feet carried her on the sidewalk from our house to theirs, which at that time was not far away in the neighborhood.

So, this is a picture of Bella, my granddaughter, in what she probably thinks is her first car. She got it last year on her birthday. She drives it from her home in College Park, several miles away, to our house more times than most teenagers would, so we are always happy and grateful to see her!

She no longer controls the speed with her feet. 

Big deal.

Her first car got a lot better gas mileage!

😊

As we picture the future; we create it.

Peace.

Love, Linda

Spring Greens

 Somebody spilled the paints last night, 

full palettes of greens.

Could be the winds from the midnight storm

that roared across the heavens with sounds of fury

knocked over an entire pallet of palettes,

and it flowed across the trees, the grasses

and the fields, skipping some places as

it spread

the way spilled paint does.

My new favorite colors now.

SPRING GREENS,

not the ones you eat,

but the ones you gaze at with 

admiration through your favorite

sunglasses.

It starts here in the south and flows northward,

so HOPES UP northerners. 

It's coming your way.

Start looking for empty paint cans on your lawn.

  

Wishing you a day of "green" peace. Don't miss it. It is one of life's most remarkable gifts.

Peace. Love, Linda 

Ready, Set...Go!

     February is burning at warp speed, and that means March is just  

around the corner. Florida March. It's my birthday month, and I always 

look for the shifting of the big dipper, so just on my birthday, it sits right 

behind the back of the house, a smidge above the oak trees in the lot 

behind us. It never lets me down. The natural world is so dependable in 

spite our efforts to break it. The oak trees sitting semi-bare, but only 

 

for a short time, are frantically replacing their leaves even as more of 

them blow away in the almost-spring wind. The other trees that actually 

lose their leaves in the winter, yes, we do have them in Florida, are 

standing stark against a deep, blue sky, limbs outstretched to the 

heavens, waiting for the words. What words?

READY, SET, GO! 

I wait with them.

Peace. Love, Linda