WHO AM I

I ran across an old photograph of my brothers and me when…I think…I was only three…immediately I asked my self…”Is that three-year-old in the photo really me?”

Certainly it was me on the day that photo was taken…but to say that IS me…well…I think I’d be mistaken.

Even though I’m not sure when that photo was shot…not sure exactly when…I think Alice in Wonderland would agree…I’ve changed a million times since then.

Yes, that was me in the photo…with ears only a parent could adore…but that was me at 3…I imagine I changed a lot by the time I had turned 4.

And 5…and 6…and through my teens and all my other years combined…until I reached the who I am today…my who…at 69.

That is the allure of old photographs…that make them both wonderful and bizarre…they capture the who we were for a moment in time…but not the who we are.

One who…who was essential…but a who we’ve emerged from…important because it helped create the who we have become.

I noticed in that old photo I was smiling…grinning ear to ear…and I’m proud that smile has been handed down from who to who and year to year.

I guess if I have one small bone of contention…it would be that my whos had been a little taller…or at least…knowing how’d they would one day grow…that my ears would have started out…a little smaller.

But let me say this to all my future whos…

as each who adjusts and rearranges….

I’m okay with my ears getting larger…

as long as that smile never changes.

 

AND THEN HE CRIED

 His love was ever present but quiet…still in it they found relief…so it only stands to reason he’d be quiet in his grief.

There are no rules for dealing with death…which is why, after his wife died,…despite his heart being broken…despite his sorrow…despite all this…he never cried.

His children and friends would visit…wanting to help…and in so many ways they tried…but in spite of their friendship and love…in spite of the sorrow hiding in his heart…in spite of all this…he never cried.

In his mind it was quite simple…there was one hope he kept leaning on…for in spite of what he knew to be true…he could’t accept that she was gone.

After 40 years together he kept hoping…dreaming she would walk through their front door…and greet him with a smile as she’d done a million times before.

Hoping what had happened couldn’t possibly be true…that it must be a mistake…a big misunderstanding…a dream from which he will awake.

In his own time he did come to realize his life would never return to the same track…that his wife is gone forever…that she’ll never be coming back.

On that day…

the day he understood she would no longer be there to hold his hand…

to whisper in his ear…

to look at him wide-eyed…

that is the day he grabbed his heart…

fell to his knees…

that is the day…

he cried.

PERFECTION?

 

We grow up striving to be perfect…we’re told…perfection is the way…but we soon learn no one is ever perfect…every moment of every day.

Realizing total perfection is impossible…we settle on a different plan…

We begin to look for moments of perfection where and when we can.

Luckily they are not hard to find…trust me…someone who’s been looking for a while…because every moment of perfection has at its heart…a smile.

It may be a little love you’ve given…or a little love you have received…but once you feel or see a smile…perfection is achieved.

So instead of trying to be perfect…this is my philosophy…

if I can make one person smile…I know a moment if perfection has found it’s way to me.

Take these verses I write each day…trying to write the perfect poem…is a hopeless goal…indeed…which means my imperfect poems and verses are all you get to read.

But even if one imperfect poem makes you smile…my heart and soul agree…that one moment of perfection…

is good enough for me.

SHE KNEW

 

The daughter suspected there was something wrong…she found it most upsetting…when she began to notice all the little things her mother was forgetting.

And the more she saw her mother falter…her misplaced keys…her lost glasses…her forgotten shoes…The more confusion she saw on her mother’s  face…the more and more she knew…

It made her want to throw something…to stomp her feet…to shout…

It was as if a hole had opened in her mother’s mind…and her memories were leaking out.

As she witnessed her mother’s increasing puzzlement…saw more memories fade into a blur…she secretly hoped her mom would never realize exactly what was happening to her.

Until the day she found her mother surrounded by old photos…old family albums too…the day she saw tears streaming down her mothers face…is they day she knew…she knew.

It took a moment for her mom to recognize her…both faces showing their strain…for how does a face reveal its love while trying to conceal its pain?

“So, Momma. What are you doing?” She asked…her worst fears playing out…Surrounded by all these albums…with these old photos strewn about?”

“I don’t quite understand.” Her mom cried. “It’s all just so bizarre…but when I look at some of the people in these photos…I can’t remember who they are.”

And so the daughter sat down with her mother…hoping for one more moment the inevitable to defer…and as they picked up and held each picture…she helped her remember who they were.

Despite doing everything in her power, however, everything she could think to do…the hole in her mother’s mind grew larger…and eventually…all of her memories fell through.

“Do you think Nana knew how much we loved her?” Her own daughter asked the day of her funeral…tears falling from her eyes of blue.

“Love is a feeling…not a memory.” She said hugging her daughter close…

And although Nana might not have shown it…

“She knew…

I’m sure she knew.”

AN OLD CAST IRON PAN

I imagine when you first see it…all you see an old cast-iron pan…you don’t see where it’s been…you only notice the outside…not the history within.

But every time we use it…we handle it affectionately…because when we pick up this old cast-iron pan…that…is exactly what we see.

Some of this pan’s history we know…the rest we must infer…it was Debrah’s grandmother’s…passed down to her mother…then passed on down to her.

Now take another look at it…imagine, if you can, three generations of meals…cooked inside this pan.

Think of all the breakfasts, lunches and dinners served up lovingly…think of what this old cast-iron pan has meant to our family.

I wonder if that’s what makes anything cooked in this pan taste so good…as we think about how long ago it was cast…as the flavors we are tasting today blend with all those flavors from the past.

I suppose that’s why we get a little sentimental…why we use this pan so reverentially…knowing its age and history is what makes it special…knowing it’s a lot like Deborah and me.

And hoping how the three of us…Deborah, me and this old cast-iron pan…with a little bit of care and a lot of love…will keep cooking as long as we can.

We only hope there is at least one item in your house filled with memories…filled with its own history…an item like our old cast-iron pan…that’s part of your family.

 

CAUGHT OUT IN THE RAIN

 

While on my walk this morning…as I navigated the terrain…a raindrop fell upon my shoulder and I thought…how love is a lot like getting caught out in the rain.

You’re walking along…minding your own business…just like every other day…when you feel that first raindrop…you’re taken aback…and you try brushing it away.

Then the next raindrop hits and then another…you’re confused…you begin to fret…you were just out walking…you weren’t ready to get wet.

But as more and more raindrops keep falling you realize…you have less to lose and more to gain…so you stop fighting with your feelings and you give in to the rain.

And when you do…when you allow the rain to soak into ever crevice…every pore…you smile and you dance more than you’ve ever smiled or danced before.

And you think…it was only a short while ago…you tried to brush away that drop…but now…wherever you are walking…you don’t want the rain to stop.

And as it becomes a little easier to enjoy life’s blessings and to endure its aches and pains…you realize how lucky you were…to get caught out in the rain.

STRANGERS

 

It’s funny…how it works…people walk into the bookstore as strangers…we greet…we talk…I might help them find the book they’re looking for…we talk some more…and in those few brief moments…we’re not strangers anymore.

We begin by talking about books…then move to sharing things about our life…

“Her birthday is next week.” He smiles.  “I’m going to buy this old book for my wife.”

“What a beautiful baby!” I say. “I remember when our children were that small…but it’s been a while…when I wave to the baby and she waves back…everybody smiles.

“Can I bring my dog into the store?”

“Of course…that would be fine.”

Then he tells me a little about his dog…and I tell him things I remember about mine.

And so it goes…one after the other…strangers walk into our store…and once we share what we have in common…we’re not strangers anymore.

Because the more we learn about each other…the more bridges we create…the more there is to love and the less there is to hate.

Which means if we can make strangers into friends…

the less chance there is for danger

because it’s harder to hate a friend…than it is to hate a stranger.

So here’s my vote for viewing the world as one giant expansive bookstore…

where we meet as strangers…

we talk…

we share with one another…

where in a matter of minutes…

we’re not strangers anymore.

WHY I LOVE ELEPHANTS

I love elephants!  It’s a love I’m not ashamed to affirm.

Yes, I’m not afraid to say it…I’m in love with the pachyderm!

It’s not just because as I’ve grown older my ears and nose are larger…and it’s easier to get fat…no, my love affair with elephants is so much more than that.

I know that elephants are animals…but it’s not the animal I see…

When I look at an elephant…I see their humanity.

Elephants protect one another…they know the importance of family…they know how to work together…they’ll even baby sit…for free.

Elephants are social…and within their elephant habitat

using their trunks to communicate…elephants love to chat.

Elephants can also be vain…with human’s that’s another connection…for they’ve been known, just like us, to be enamored with their own reflection.

Elephants eat only plants…from this diet they never will cheat..and as a vegetarian…how can I not love an animal who refuses to eat meat.

And here is a priceless little known fact I’m happy to share with you…elephant babies suck their trunks…just like, with their thumbs, human babies do.

Finally elephants are not afraid to express their feelings…in their own emotional pachyderm skin they are snug…I love the way they use their trunks…to feel…to touch and to hug.

They will lend a trunk to one another…they will comfort an elephant bereaved…elephants have been overheard weeping…yes…elephants also grieve.

So there you have my reasons why in the animal kingdom I think the elephant is a gem….

In truth…It’s not because they are more like me…

it’s I wish I was more like them.

 

LISTENING TO THE EARTH

 

LISTENING TO THE EARTH

My feet have been vital to me on my walks throughout the years but every now and then I like to do my walking…with my ears.

My feet know where they’re going…after all…they’ve been with me since my birth…and every now and then I let them lead the way so I can listen to the Earth.

Sometimes I’ll close my eyes and hold my breath…and the moment that I do…I find I’m able to hear it’s heartbeat…how the Earth is breathing too.

Her breathing is the wind…from her strongest gust to her gentlest breeze as she exhales across my face on her way to making music with the trees.

Many people think it is the sun that begins the day but I know just before the dawn…it is the wind that awakens the plants and animals…for I have heard them yawn.

I know how trees are related…I’ve heard them talk to one another…

I’ve heard them laugh and kid and play and argue…just like sisters do…and brothers.

Not only have I had the privilege of listening to the trees…but when my ears are walking I’ve listened to the crickets…to the birds…to the rabbits  and the bees.

And on those days I have been blessed to walk along the shore…with the wind whistling in my ears…I have heard the ocean roar.

In Autumn I have listened to the falling leaves as they flutter to and fro…and in Winter as it drifts down…I have listened to the snow.

In Springtime I have listened to the rain…I’ve heard the flowers dream

In Summer…in the mountains I have listened to the streams.

I can only say how wonderful…how exciting…how enchanting…and how sweet…

It’s been to live a life…twice blessed by my feet….

Blessed for all the places they have taken me since my birth…

and blessed for all the chances they’ve given my ears to listen to the Earth.

THE WONDER OF SHOOTING STARS

We arrived at the beach at 2:45 in the morning…why, you ask, at such an early hour?

because that was the best time to see shooting stars from the Orionid meteor shower.

But the full moon’s light made shooting stars almost impossible to see with the eye…and adding insult to our injury clouds were blanketing the sky.

So with the reason we came to the beach thwarted…from the sky we turned our attention away…and immediately noticed how the light from the moon overhead made the nighttime seem more like the day.

We noticed how at first we were mesmerized by the silence stretching across the land…until we heard the faint call of the ocean…whispering across the sand.

We noticed her voice never rose above a whisper…as across the sand it swept…

as if she was consciously keeping her voice low…while the animals of the daytime slept 

We noticed how the moon, itself, was quite beautiful…how she really put on a show…illuminating the clouds above us…while making the sands below our feet glow.

We noticed how the glowing sand felt cool beneath our feet…

We noticed how the chilly breeze off the ocean made us forget the usual Florida heat.

We noticed by the water’s edge…a family of birds out for an early morning treat…and we wondered, with no worms around, what do the early birds at the ocean eat?

But most of all we wondered if this beach in the moonlight…natural…untouched…pristine…was the way God intended to create it…the way it was meant to be seen.

There on our blanket in the sand…we realized how lucky we are…

and surrounded by the beauty of so many miracles …we forgot about shooting stars.

Yes, we came to the beach in the middle of the night to feel the wonder of those shooting stars…knowing seeing them is quite rare….

but we quickly realized…

the wonder was not in the shooting stars

the wonder was in being there.

 

SHE TOOK A WALK IN THE FOREST

 

She loves to walk inside the forest…among the trees…the streams…the ferns…

to enjoy what beauty nature has to offer…and what, from nature, she can learn.

She knows there is always something nature has to teach…wherever she may go

In Fall the lessons are usually about accepting change…and sometimes…letting go.

But this particular Autumnal walk brought with it a very different theme…

when she noticed two trees had fallen into one another…from opposite sides of a stream.

She knows all trees are part of the same family…of this there’s no dispute….

and that they communicate with one another…(it all starts within their roots)

Did the one tree feel in its roots what was about to happen?

Did the surrounding trees hear it call…to the other tree across the water

“Don’t be afraid I will catch you if you fall”.

Did the other tree know it was about fall…and know the only way to escape from harm…was to trust the tree across the water…and fall into its arms?

She would have loved to know the answer…she wished the forest would confess…

but nature does not reveal her secrets…so she had to make do with her guess.

Which made her wonder what lesson the forest was trying to teach her?  

Could it be in life that leaning on one another is the key….

and how all trees are a little stronger…when they stand with other trees?

That even when a tree grows old…when it begins to teeter…when it can no longer stand…how other trees are ready to help…and will catch them if they can.

How trees will always be there to remind one another…from the time their seed is sown…there will always be a tree around…and they will never be alone.

She stayed a little while longer…enjoying the stream…the view…the breeze…

and wishing…

if only people…

could be a little more like the trees.

LOVE LETTERS

 

So much technology at our fingertips allows us to communicate with each other so much faster…but not necessarily better…for lost in our alacrity is the art of the love letter.

Oh, we can end a text with emoticons for love <3 for happy :) for kiss * but we don’t have to write complete sentences anymore…which is something I dearly miss.

For it is only in a card or letter where the seeds of love are truly sown…taking the time to form the letters…writing from our heart…is an art form all its own.

When it comes to letter writing the French know this to be true…they have a special term for a love letter…it’s called the billet-doux.

Why you may ask in today’s fast paced world send something that moves with the speed of a snail?  Because nothing beats the feeling one has when they receive a love letter in the mail.

(Let me assuage any misconceptions you may be thinking of…

for any letter or card you send someone…is an act of love.)

That elation we experience opening the envelope addressed to us and taking out a personal note…knowing someone not only took the time to write it…but to think about what they wrote.

Knowing they wrote it just for us…not for the entire world to see…gives the billet-doux a feeling of friendship…of closeness…of affection…of intimacy.

Yes the world is moving by at a rapid pace but a love letter is one way to fight it..because the greatest gift in a love letter is the time we take to write it.

So here’s to writing and sending more love letters…for I imagine there are people out there who…would love to be on the receiving end of a billet-doux…from you.

A CIGAR AND STEVIE VAN ZANDT

 

The aroma of a cigar in the morning and that same evening Stevie Van Zandt on the cover of a book…what do these two things have in common…let’s take a closer look.

That morning on our walk as we neared the water…something quite bizarre…mixed with the distinctive smells of the ocean…was the aroma of a cigar.

Immediately triggering in me a memory…a memory that brings me joy…of how my Dad enjoyed a good cigar when I was but a boy.

I was greeted with a smile by the man smoking…I’m sure he never realized how he had from the aroma of his cigar helped me walk a moment with my dad.

“Is that Stevie Van Zandt?” A woman asked me in the bookstore that evening soon after my shift began.  I nodded as she held the book telling me, “My husband was his biggest fan.”

Sadness filled her face for a moment…until joy pushed it away so fast…

“My husband would have loved this book.” She said. “Unfortunately he’s passed.”

“She told me a little about her husband and their life (but I think she was talking mostly to herself) then she lovingly touched Stevie Van Zandt’s face as she returned him to the shelf.

There is a beauty in not knowing what things we might touch, taste, smell or see…that will…without a warning…trigger, in us, a memory.

A joyful memory of someone we loved whose path we were lucky to have crossed…reminding us, for a moment, how much we had…not how much we lost.

On this particular day…as it began…and as it ended…all it took….

was the aroma of a cigar…and Stevie Van Zandt’s face upon a book.

FEATHER IN THE SKY

 

Yesterday as the sun was rising on our walk…what should catch our eye….but one humongous…elongated white feather…stretching across the sky.

Our weatherman is quick to inform us…that it’s a cirrus cloud and in it we will find…crystals of ice which means…a cold front will not be far behind.

But when I see a feather in the sky…so tremendous…so long…so white…my mind thinks back to my childhood…and 1001 Arabian Nights.

A Middle Eastern myth?…you might be asking yourselves…Why…

because in this myth the Roc was a huge white bird of prey that prowled across the sky.

Who was large enough to pickup an elephant…from whose arrival even the sun would hide…who, if myths are to be believed, once took Sinbad, the sailor, for a ride.

Meteorologists today will no doubt find my thoughts revolting…but when I see a large feather in the sky…I like to think the Roc is molting.

Besides in a world where we come face to face with harsh realities time and time again…it’s fun to fantasize…to stir our imaginations a little every now and then.

Which is why when I see a feather stretched across the sky…I allow my imagination and reality play….is it the molted feather from one enormous bird…or is there a cold front on the way….

Before you scoff at my ambiguity…as most people and certainly all weathermen do…

let us take a minute and thoughtfully think this through…

A cold front on its way…

or the largest bird one could conceive…

knowing I live in Florida…

which myth should I believe?

REDISCOVERING

 

Whenever my life seems out of balance…when things are difficult for me…

I remember I am loved…and rediscover life’s symmetry.

Whenever the music of my life is out of tune…when I lose the melody…

I remember I am loved…and rediscover life’s harmony.

Whenever my world turns dark and colorless…when it’s beauty I can no longer see…

I remember I am loved…and rediscover life’s artistry.

Whenever I’m feeling lonely…when I think I’m on my own…

I remember I am loved…and rediscover I am not alone.

Whenever I see others who have so much more than me…when I think life’s unfair…

I remember I am loved…and rediscover riches beyond compare.

And whenever I’m discouraged over a dream that didn’t come true…

I remember I am loved …and rediscover…how some dreams do..

Whether it be partners, family, friends or pets…I am happy to concede

All the times in life I’ve rediscovered…

how love is all I need.

BEAUTIFUL WORDS

 

Today we celebrate Noah Webster and his creation…the dictionary…without them you might say we’d be speechless…we’d have no vocabulary.

For how important are words once they form within our heads…with their ability to evoke emotions the moment they are said.

A word, itself, is not beautiful or ugly…complimentary or demeaning…it’s only in the context and the way we say it that gives a word it’s meaning.

Words when spoken from a place of love have a musical refrain…words when spoken from a place of hate are meant to damage and cause pain.

Some words make us feel good and bring with them happiness…let me name a few…there’s freedom, laughter, joy, peace, love, compassion and family too.

Some words when uttered leave fear and sorrow in their wake…like Alzheimer’s, Aids, war, death…tornado and earthquake.

I remember when a friend informed us her doctor wanted to see…if cancer was growing inside her…so she ordered a biopsy.

Biopsy…now there’s a word with the ability to fill ones heart with fear…as you anxiously and hopefully wait for the doctor to say the words you want to hear.

It’s interesting that as word spread of her biopsy that was planned….words of encouragement came rushing to her from all across the land.

Words of love…of compassion and support…words easy to comprehend…drifted softly…blended together and landed on our friend.

Our words were one way of showing her we were thinking of her…that we cared…one way to let her know her fear and apprehension was something we all shared.

And as we all awaited the results…hoping our world might realign…our apprehension turned to exhilaration when we heard the word…benign.

It is amazing how one day one word can cause so much woe..so much anguish and concern…and the next day another word replaces it allowing joy and happiness to return.

And so I wonder if Mr. Webster, the lexicographer, would agree…if we only used kind word from his dictionary…how happy we’d all be.

How words of kindness and love are an investment used to gather friends…and one day, when we need it…those words pay dividends.

For when I think of our friend’s frightening experience…it is the words of her friends I recall….leaving me to wonder if words of love…of support…of kindness…of compassion and of friendship…aren’t the most beautiful words of all.

ONE GRANDPA'S THOUGHTS ON RAISING CHIDLREN

The young couple was about to have a baby so they thought it would be nice to sit down with his grandpa and ask for some advice.

“What can I tell you about raising children?” He said. “About helping them to grow. I guess the first thing would be to be prepared for all the things you do not know.”

“I will tell you raising children can be messy…you’ll be joining an exclusive group…who wonder how something so delicate and pure can keep filling up with so much poop”

“I will tell you raising children never stops…it will last your whole life long…that sometimes you will do things right…other times you’ll do them wrong.”

“How some days it will seem so hard…other days like a piece of cake and the best that you can hope for is to learn from your mistakes.”

“Sometimes you’ll wonder, ‘What was I thinking entering into parenthood…when your children are acting up or not behaving the way they should.

“Other times love oozes out of you…it’s something you can’t hide…those days when all is running smoothly…when you can sit back and enjoy the ride.

“Around the time you’re feeling comfortable…when “We got this! you exclaim…your second child arrives and you realize…no two children are the same.

Your parenting confidence takes a hit…you can throw out all those lessons your first child taught……You’ll find some of the things you learned will work…but most of them…will not

“You’ll worry as they sleep at night…you’ll worry when they crawl…and when they start to walk…you’ll worry they will fall.”

“As they grow it’s not so much their falling that will cause the uneasiness in you…it’s knowing you won’t always be there to catch them when they do.”

“Since there is no universal guidebook for raising children…I think the best thing you can do…is to realize while you are raising them…they are also raising you.

And when your children have all grown…the house is silent…but your memories are loud…you will smile thinking…hoping…that you did each other proud.

You will remember all those moments….all those times you worried…all those times you laughed and cried…and marvel at how after all these years you still have so much love inside.

You’ll look back on the life you’ve lived…

remembering all the love…and then 

You’ll smile wishing you could go back in time…

and do it all again.”

 

THE SAME SEED

 

He had a conversation with an angel…he was seated by a stream…when he noticed she was next to him…then again he thought…it could have been a dream.

“I see you are shouldered with sadness.” The angel said, “And this sadness carries great weight.”

He nodded, “I don’t understand how a world created out of love can be filled with so much hate.”

“It is difficult to understand,” the angel said, “how love and hate grow from the same seed…when nurtured with love it grows into a flower…when raised in hate…it grows into a weed.”

“And though that seed is fragile it is also resilient…for everyone has it within their power to turn any flower into a weed…and any weed into a flower.”

“I imagine what is making you sad what tends to make your world seem sour…

Is how easy it is to turn a flower into a weed…but how difficult to turn a weed into a flower…

“But it can be done…begin by looking around you…start now…don’t hesitate and you’ll be pleasantly surprised…how you’ll see more love than hate.”

And as you look around you’ll see…when it’s love each seed consumes…

or when love is substituted for hate…how another flower blooms.

Remember love and hate speak different languages…but the more you concentrate 

…the more words of love you speak…the less words you’ll have for hate. 

And you must believe…as I believe…it’s why I came to you today…

to remind you…with your help…and with the help of others…love will find a way.

She left him smiling…thinking about her words…still seated by the stream…

still wondering if what he just experienced was real…or if it was a dream…

No matter he thought to himself…whether a dream or an angel sent from above

It was time to do his part…for there are many seeds in need of love.

HER OLD SHOES

 

Of all the things he loves about her…of those he can and cannot see…he loves how emotional…how nostalgic…how sentimental she can be.

He loves how in the big and in the small things in life her sentimentality is infused…which is why he understood her tears…as she gazed at her new shoes.

Her old shoes were showing their age…from all those years of being worn…they were weathered around the edges…and the toe of one was torn.

But her new shoes still sat in the closet…she hadn’t worn them yet….it seems her old shoes were full of memories she was not yet ready to forget.

But it was time…she knew it…and she knew the reason why…her old shoes were ready to be retired…it was time to say goodbye.

She looked at her new shoes then to her old shoes….and thought of all the times lived in between…all the places those old shoes had taken her…all the things, together, they had seen.

“My old shoes are like old friends.” She said. “They’ve earned a place in my affection.   And just like a pair of old friends…I’ve learned to look past their flaws and imperfections.”

“There is a comfort you develop with old friends…an enjoyment you never want to lose.”

She said…a tear dropping to her cheek as she held up her old shoes.

I imagine she was thinking how one pair marks the end of a journey…the other where a new one begins…when suddenly a thought crossed her mind…and her face evolved into a grin.

“I bet these old shoes have one memory left.” She smiled. “One more walk, one more run, one more climb.” Then she slipped then on and laced them up for what would be their one last time.

Yes, this os one of the things he loves about her he thought…as off the beaten path they traversed…

how the last walk in a pair of old shoes can make her as happy as the first.

THESE EYES

 I took a long look in the mirror this morning and boy was I surprised…I think the best way to put it would be…I couldn’t believe my eyes.

There was a time my eyes were much bluer…a brighter…vivid shade…

when…I wondered as I stared…did their color begin to fade?

And when did the skin underneath them begin to droop and sag…when did my once youthful face develop old man bags?

At first glance, I admit, I was taken aback…I was shook…so I leaned into the mirror to take a closer look.

Up close I didn’t see the bags or notice their color had lost their sheen…up close all I saw were all the wonders these eyes have seen.

Yes, these eyes may have grown a little older…they may have developed a few scars…but they’ve also seen the colors of a rainbow…sunsets…the ocean…shooting stars.

These eyes have seen love as it’s unfolded in many a shape and size…love both given and received I saw reflected in these eyes.

These eyes have seen me make mistakes…they’ve seen me make amends…they’ve been happy as they’ve witnessed the beginning of life…and sad to see life end.

They’ve seen flowers bloom in Spring…Fall colors and Winter snows…they’ve seen many a baby’s smile…o moonlit night…they’ve seen my family grow.

These eyes have seen the joys of living…they’ve seen its sadness and its fears…they’ve been overcome with laughter…they’ve been filled with tears. 

As I leaned back from the mirror…my vision seemed more keen…comforted and energized by all the sights my eyes have seen.

I walked away forgetting how much their color’s faded…or how those bags under Tham came to be…and excited to experience all the sights they’ve yet to see.

ON A WALK ALONG THE BEACH

 

One way, I think, to come to a better understanding of our country…of this land…is to take a walk along the beach…and watch people playing in the sand.

With our first steps onto the sand…one simple thought arises…how before us stretch a sea of people in all colors…shapes and sizes.

This alone makes us smile but we are also pleasantly surprised to watch as an entire circle of life plays out before our eyes.

We see lovers holding hands…we pass a wedding…we sneak a peek…we see another couple…she’s pregnant…their baby’s due within the week.

As our walk continues in the cooling breeze of a Florida Autumn…we see a family with a naked baby…the sand is covering his bottom.

We see families with older children…their sounds drowned out by the oceans roar…running…laughing…jumping…playing catch along the shore.

We see older couples, just like us, walking with elegance and grace…It’s hard to find a person on the beach without a smile on their face.

Here’s a little something, I imagine, every seashore has to teach…people playing on the beach have no labels…they’re just people on the beach!

So, if you want to come to a better understanding of this country…of any country…of any land…take a walk along any beach and watch how people share the sand.

Yes, I imagine that’s exactly the message the seashore means to send…

as we share the sand…

the sun…

the sea together…

how easily we blend.

INOCENCE

 

There is a a purity born into every baby…an innocence that runs deep…I imagine every parent feels it whenever they watch their baby sleep.

We not only see it in the way they sleep…but in the morning when they rise…we see it in the way they look at us…it’s in their smile…in their eyes.

I saw it in my children and grandchildren…in the different things they’d say and do…and I imagine you’ve seen it in your children…and in your grandchildren too.

I’m also sure you’ve seen it even if you don’t have children…if that was never meant to be…because innocence is one of the easiest and most endearing sights our eyes will ever see.

Yes, if you want to view a little innocence…watch a child…listen to their sounds…you’ll quickly come to realize…that is…where innocence abounds.

And we’re not alone…nature also sees their innocence for why do you suppose…she allows the ladybug to crawl upon their finger…and the butterfly to land upon their nose.

But innocence is fragile and as the years go by 

if it’s not cared for…

if it’s not nurtured…

there’s a chance that it may die.

So I pray…once born…once created…once that innocence arrives…

we’ll do our best with all our children…to keep that innocence alive..

For I can think of nothing more distressing…

more tragic…

a more sorrowful expense…

than a child who’s lost their purity…

who’s lost their trust…

who’s lost their innocence.