A Newborn

Despite turmoil around the globe, 

A new baby is a window on Mother Earth

“Every child begins the world again.”

~ Henry David Thoreau

Author's note:  Violet Grace

                         Grand-niece born February 15, 2024

 

From My Window

I have looked to the window on the world too much these days. My heart feels broken when I hear the devastation visited on families. And I don’t know what to do. Until I look across the street and see the beauty that is right in front of me. The golden leaves will grace the streets, in winter there will be icy beauty on that same tree and springtime will bring new green growth. I can see all of that from my window as I write. Fear for the future and grief for the fallen fade into the background. My faith in humanity has wavered but is strong again.

“Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt.”

~ Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Rules of the Soul

 

routine too rigid 

no longer serves me

fixed corners deny living and 

life outside these walls. 

breaking the frame; pieces

create new spaces and places

for wider vistas with

open doors and windows

juggling, puzzling ~ rigid rules

softened and sung to gently serve

with a new grace after the shock of 

any change tossed in our lap.

“It is discouraging to try to penetrate a mind like yours. 

You ought to get it out and dance on it. 

That would take some of the rigidity out of it.”

~ Mark Twain

The Window

Behind the window, 

a story would unfold. 

Life would be lived with

love and laughter,

sorrow and tears,

sewing for pleasure, 

learning dance steps for leisure

hurry to work or off to class

vacation plans or

dreams of retirement 

all swirled through life’s ups and downs.

There will always be a story 

behind the window.

“Strange things blow in through my window on the wings 

of the night wind and I don’t worry about my destiny,”

~ Carl Sandburg

Rainy Day Rest

glistening drops drizzle

down cool window panes

branches sway wildly

damp breezes waft 

through open windows

to freshen cosy inside 

curled under a blanket,

the steady patter of rain

surrounds my rest.

“Let’s just sit quietly and listen to the secrets the rain wants to tell us.”

~ John Mark Green, author

(from goodreads.com)

And Again!!

And again!

staring…..

staring…….

Glancing out the window

at the fading blue sunset sky,

trees resting from spring winds

….and back to 

staring….

staring….

Any words, ideas

must be resting in the branches 

outside where I cannot reach them.

“If you stare into the Abyss long enough the Abyss stares back at you.”

~ Friedrich Nietzsche

The Triggering Effect

Rarely, if ever, do we take into consideration the real reason for our more animated discussions. This little debacle seemed to be about windows. Not all of the windows, just the living room window. Was it too wide? Too tall? Were there enough drapes on it? Or the right kind? In Ronald's mind, trying to sort through all of those ridiculous details was not even logical. He was too angry. After a particularly nasty fight with his long time partner Kelly, he had stomped into the den and slammed the door behind him. Breathing hard, he slammed his fist on the shiny mahogany surface of his desk. What was that all about!? He hung his head, then stood up and shook his shoulders. With both hands he brushed off the weight of the last hour. All he could think of was that it was the old fight. The fight that started over some bit of trivia and escalated into World War III. Doors were slammed, icy silence fell like icicles snapped from the eaves and only in the morning did the air seem cleared - at least temporarily. 

Ron sat down at his desk, leaned forward on his elbows and thought. Then he started to chuckle silently. The chuckle bubbled up from his belly. That fight wasn’t about the drapes on the living room window at all. 

~~~~~

In the morning, it had started. Neither of them had slept well, and then slept in. The power had gone out in the night, their radio alarm didn’t go off at the right time. There was only time to make coffee, but the coffee maker sprung a leak flooding the counter, dripping onto the floor and leaving the coffee grounds as dry as dust. That was no problem, they would pick up coffee on the way into work. “Where is my cellphone?” Kelly was frantically searching pockets, drawers and finally his briefcase. The phone was buried on the bottom beneath an old sandwich, some folders stuffed with forms and a package of tissues. “Do you have the car keys?” It was Ron’s turn to drive but there were no keys in sight. “I found them - let’s go.”

The stress and strain of that morning’s mess, left behind them in the kitchen, lay in wait for their return. Laughing about some of the events of the day, Ron and Kelly came home. They hung up their coats. Ronald put his brief case up on the counter. “What’s for supper, Kel? ….Kelly?” He could hear his partner in the living room closing the drapes. “These stupid drapes won’t close properly.” ………….That’s when it started! Just because they were both tired.

“Always wait for the trigger. The trigger is the final part 

of the puzzle, the reason you want to shoot.” 

~ Jay Maisel

Next

Larger than life itself are 

‘the slings and arrows’ 

that catch us upside the head
when we least expect it.

Solid stones hitting 

squarely in the solar plexus

catching our breath,

bunching it into a ball of fear,

until breath comes naturally.

A new path opens to opportunity 

for growth and change

despite a still muddied horizon

but with studied clarity of purpose

and belief that challenges create

goals for any next step.

“Don’t waste a minute not being happy, If one window closes, 

run to the next window - or break down a door.”

~ Brooke Shields

Chelsea's Window

Creativity, or anything else that requires energy, seems quite non-existent when some virus decides to take up residence in the human body. Making a commitment to myself many years ago, when life seemed very bleak, I have written and posted daily. Why do I continue? Because I have learned that bleakness or just a silly old virus, does not have to shut off an attempt at creative genius. Did I just say genius? That can’t be right. I must have just  meant ‘creativity’.  In an effort to subvert my stodgy sinusitis, I reverted to finding a stem from <www.writingexercises.co.uk>. I have used this tactic before and found that my pen travels quite easily into story. Not an especially good story, but a story none the less.

Chelsea's Window

‘There was something not quite right about the window.’ It was as it had always been. A nice little window to the right at the top of the stairs. Chelsea could look out at the world in this private little space. An alcove shaped by the bannister created this charming little nook. A little oak writing desk faced the outside world, so when Chelsea’s pen stopped moving, she could watch the comings and goings outside. Visitors coming down the gravel road, their dust signalling a large or small vehicle. Dogs racing out to greet welcome visitors or to bark at strangers. The slanting sun rays through the trees that lined the road, whether early morning or late afternoon. Chelsea made sure to keep this little space and her desk tidy and clean so her mother wouldn’t make her move back into her bedroom. She always vacuumed the rug, including the stairs. She kept the trailing green fern on the oak plant stand watered and trimmed. Chelsea liked to call it her office.

From this quaint vantage point and to the side of the trees, Chelsea could see trains slipping across the horizon and disappearing behind undulating landscape. And the clouds. Oh, the clouds that changed the sky constantly from tiny drifts of ‘horses tails’, cotton ball puffs or slate grey banks of thunder clouds. She loved it all. But, there was something just not quite right about the window. And then Chelsea saw it. She would have to tell her father. In the bottom left hand corner there was a tiny crack. Just a chip really, but tracings of lines were spreading outward. If her mother had hung the curtains she planned, Chelsea would never have seen it. Her heart gave a lurch because she knew what her father would say. She had heard it all before. Every spring. ‘If anything ever happens to that window, I’ll board it up and be done with climbing up and down the ladder!” Chelsea’s dad was the one who had to wash the window every spring after Jack Frost and his paintbrushes had melted away. His paintings were delicate and beautiful, but unfortunately, he brought tiny bits of dirt and dust along. With a sigh, Chelsea realized that the cracks forming were reason enough for the window to be boarded up. And the cracks were letting in cold air. Another of her father’s blusterings whenever a door was left open. ‘I’m not heating up the outdoors, you know!’

Twelve year old Chelsea set down her pen, closed her journal and went downstairs with a last look at the beautiful outside. ‘Dad, there’s a crack in the window that looks kind of scary. Does it have to be fixed or will it be ok?’

Her dad put down his mug of coffee, grinned from ear to ear and said ‘Finally! Now I can get the job done! Viola, you’d best put some more coffee on. The workmen will be here pretty soon.’ 

‘But, dad, I just told you about the crack! How can the workmen be here already?’ But she had already seen the dust of work vans and heard the dogs barking. 

‘Cheer up. honey. I’ve known about that crack for a long time. The workmen are glaziers. Glaziers do glass repair and replacement. We can finally get a proper double paned window in there so I don’t have to heat up the outdoors and you can keep your little window on the world.

“A morning-glory at my window satisfies 

me more than the metaphysics of books.”

~ Walt Whitman

Anthropomorphizing

Anthropomorphizing

I went over every square inch of the lawn. Every blade of grass that had even an interesting sniff of something or someone. Traffic was non-existent on this street so busy during the day, so I had no distractions. The wind had gone to sleep. Scattered stars shone, only the most distant ones dimmed by the street lights. Unnecessary, but acceptable, I was not disturbed by them. I did try to keep into shadow. I lifted my head. A sound not unlike one of my neighbours when it clears its throat, but much softer. I resumed my search for the secret prize only I know as soon as I find it. Moving from grass to the tiny ditch separating the grass from a flower bed, I continued my search slowly and carefully, but only for a few feet. Back on the grass, much softer on the pads of my feet, the dew cold and wet, I stopped. Lifted my head higher this time. There was someone there! It seemed a ghost. A very large ghost. White against the blackened window. What voyeur dares to come even close to my yard? It has been standing there for quite awhile, sure that I haven’t seen it. But I’m paying attention. I’ll stare at it until it moves again. Phew! It’s backing off. I can hear the scraping of a door sliding open. It’s gone through the black window but I’ll keep watching until I’m certain that the ghost has vanished back to where it came from.

“Sometimes, staying alive solely depends on 

keeping your head in place and your senses alert.”

~ Susana Fortes

A Long Overdue Letter to Santa Claus

Dear Santa,

I’m not sure I should be writing you this letter. It’s been over 60 years since the last time I wrote, but I’ve been thinking a lot about you lately. Partly because it’s Christmas and your namesakes are all over the place. But partly because I miss Christmas morning and the brown stockings filled with nuts, candy and an orange in the toe. Did you really eat all the cookies and milk at everyone’s house? 

But that’s not what I wanted to ask about. I have everything I need and most things I want. But there is one thing that I have always wanted. It’s been a secret. I want a kitchen - a big kitchen. My own kitchen with all the gadgets I want. If I told you the truth, besides gadgets, I would like it to be a really big kitchen ~ did I mention that already? Two refrigerators - or one really big one. Two ovens, one at eye level and one an ordinary one. And a gas range. I want room for a table in the middle of my big kitchen and a pantry. With big windows facing west on one side and east on the other side.

Well that’s all I want and really I don’t expect it. Not because I don’t think you couldn’t get it here in time, but I really don’t know what I’d do with all that space. I guess I just wanted to write  one more letter to you.

Your friend, Susan

P.s. Of course, there would need to be a corner designed with a window seat with book shelves lined with cookbooks.

P.P.S. And if it’s not too much to ask, my kitchen would have to be in a little cottage complete with a writing room with a roll top desk.

P.P.P.S. Would it be lacking wisdom if I asked for a weekly maid service as well …..and a garden for vegetables and flowers? (Complete with gardener.)

Susan

“Only now have you lived long enough 

to know the child that you shall always remain.”

~ Martin I. Green, Santa: My Life and Times