A TINY HEART IN A TINY STONE

 It’s one of life’s wonderful lessons…if you’re lucky enough to learn…how some of the most inspiring acts of kindness are done in secret…and ask for nothing in return.

It was a tiny heart painted on a tiny stone that barely caught my eye…left somewhat hidden on a park bench to be found by any passerby.

That passerby was me…out walking on my own…when I came across this tiny heart…painted on this tiny stone.

This tiny heart was multicolored…and it filled most of the tiny stone.

The artist did not sign it…preferring to remain unknown.

I imagine it was meant to bring a smile…in a small way to astound…after it was painted by the artist…hidden…and once it had been found.

I picked up that tiny stone, brought it close to my eyelid…and when I saw that tiny heart…that’s exactly what it did!

I enjoyed it for a few days then I hid it where it might catch the eye…on another day…in another place…of another passerby.

For that’s the wonder of an experience like the one I’d undergone…

Once you find a tiny bit of happiness…you want to pass it on.

THANKS MARILYN

 

Yesterday I wrote poem how about how when the ocean waves meet the land they leave little drawings in their wake…little artworks in the sand.

Marilyn, and old friend from my Ohio high school days (that was a long time ago!) reminded this now-Floridian…there’s also artistry in the snow.

She opened a door into a room in my mind where memories of old art I retain:

Like waking up and looking out my window to see the snow after a rain…

How the world outside was different than when I went to bed at night.

How everything was coated in little coverlets of white.

How overnight while I slept…there was an unexpected freeze…allowing nature to paint the snow that fell onto the branches of the trees.

Everywhere I looked snowflakes could be found…

Clinging to the rooftops…blanketing the ground.

But nature was not content with snow dominating my entire view…

So she added beams of yellow from the sun against a sky she painted blue.

And knowing she needed to add more color into that day’s art’s design…she added drops of red by painting cardinals in the pines.

So thank you Marilyn for reminding me…for making me aware

nature’s beauty is not unique to Florida…it can be found everywhere.

Thanks for reminding me it’s in the widest ocean…in the smallest babbling brook…that beauty’s all around us…if we take the time to look.

Thanks for opening a door to a room I closed long ago…

Thanks for allowing me to stand on a beach in Florida…

and remember the beauty of a winter snow.

ARTISTS IN THE SAND

 

When you walk along the shore…as you and nature are reacquainting…you get this sudden feeling you’re inside of a painting.

In the early morning hours on a shore pristine, untouched…untainted…you realize the painting you’re in…is in the process of being painted.

The artist begins applying colors to the sky that stretches out in front of you…splashes of yellows, reds and oranges against a canvas painted blue.

Each morning, each new painting, is filled with new surprises…as the clouds that dot the sky change their shapes, colors and sizes.

Next the artist stops experimenting with color and begins exploring the use of light and the clouds, only a moment ago filled with color, soften then turn to white.

Your attention is now drawn to the waves…rhythmically washing on to shore…as the artist paints each wave differently than the one painted before.

But perhaps the most beautiful…most subtle bit of artwork…as on the beach you stand

are the tiny little drawings each wave leaves upon the sand.

You watch the waves pour onto shore at a steady, rhythmical speed…and you discover little drawings in the sand as they quietly recede.

If you’re lucky to be standing there to view the artwork left behind…you notice each wave has its own artistic style…each drawing its own design.

But you must view them quickly…each wave's drawing’s as it’s shown…because some will only last an instant…before the next wave draws its own.

There are some spots you discover, however, as you take your walk along the beach where the artwork lasts a little longer…where the tides no longer reach.

Where you can linger for a little while…where you ultimately find…a host of beautiful little drawings the waves have left behind.

And you marvel at how the painting you’re in has changed…marvel at what the waves have drawn…knowing if you walk this same path tomorrow…the drawings will be gone.

For that is the nature of nature’s artist…how the artwork constantly changes…and why we must enjoy its beauty quickly…before its beauty rearranges.

A FEATHER ON THE GROUND

 

He found a feather on the ground, picked it up and said, “Oh Dear!  I’m so sorry little feather that you have landed here.”

“Did you come from somewhere close by…have you traveled very far?  

I imagine there’s a bird up there who’s wondering where you are.”

“Are you sad you and your bird are never again to meet?

“Are you sad that you have drifted down and landed at my feet?”

“Are you sad that you will fly no more…are you filled with gloom…or woe at all the things you will not do…all the places you won’t go?”

The feather smiled saying, “Let me tell you something we are told from the time that we are small…there will come a day, we’re taught, when every one of us will fall.”

“Since the fact that we will fall is something we can’t hide…we are also taught from an early age…that we must enjoy the ride.”

“You ask if I am sad today…my answer is NO, and here’s the reason why…

For a wonderful moment in my life I knew what it was like to fly.”

The feather smiled at the boy…”you see for happiness I do not lack…do not feel sorry for me.” and the little boy smiled back.

Suddenly a gust of wind blew the feather from his and hand and high into the sky…

“It’s nice to know,” the little boy waved, “you haven’t forgotten how to fly.”

THE HOUSE NEXT DOOR

 our neighbors recently had a baby boy and near as I can tell…not only will he affect his parents…but also the house in which they dwell.

The first change I noticed…(again, I presume, the first of many more)…

there is a light on in the bedroom when I walk…earlier than Ive ever seen a light before.

I imagine the baby is waking up in the middle of the night…because that’s what baby’s do…which means Mommy and Daddy and the house has been awakened too.

And I began to wonder as I saw that light…with all that will come to be…if the house is ready for all the changes…all the transformations he will see.

Is he ready for the different noises he will hear throughout the years?  Is he ready for the joys…the laughter…is he ready for the tears?

Is he ready for all the sleepless nights…is he ready for all the stress?  Is he ready for crayon marks upon his walls…is he ready for the mess? 

Is he ready for all the times the color of that room will change or the different posters that will be tacked upon his door?  

Is he ready for all the times a worried parent will pace back and forth across his floor?

Is he ready when the boy is young to watch him sleeping like a lamb or for when he grows a little older…all the times his door will slam?

Will he be ready, after years adjusting, about the time he’s prepared for his boy to stay…that his boy will also be ready…and prepared to move away?

And when his boy comes back to visit…will he stand up proud…put his best face on…feeling joy at his return…knowing he will miss him when he’s gone?

“I hope you’re ready, house.” I whispered as I saw the light shining through his window frame…You’re about to take wild ride…and your life will never be the same.”

Then glancing back at our house…where long ago a similar adventure began…

“It will all be over much too quickly.’ I said…”so enjoy it while you can”.

PHOTOGRAPHS

 

I think of memory as an ocean that grows larger every day…a body of water that assimilates the things we do…and say,

An old photograph is like a stone tossed into that ocean sending ripples of memories to our shore…memories of a time and place we’ve visited before.

Just like when we throw a stone into the water and watch the ripples radiate and increase… we’re never quite sure how many memories a photograph will release.

Certainly we’ll remember that moment in time when the photograph was taken…but we’re also blessed with a host of memories that photograph awakens.

As our eyes scan that old photo of people and a place we knew before…we realize each person in the photo sends more ripples to our shore.

We ride upon those memories…as they drift upon the tide…happy to be taken on this sentimental ride.

Happy that one photograph can send it’s ripples wide and far

Happy to revisit some of the people…who helped to make us who we are.

That old photo makes us smile as as we remember memories entirely our own…perhaps that’s why we take so many photographs…

so we won’t run out of stones.

A HOLE IN OUR FENCE

 

The fence that surrounds our back yard is old and rickety…some of its boards we’ve long ago misplaced…for many years it’s been way past repair and probably should have been replaced.

But even though that old fence is leaning here and there..and in one section there’s a hole…that old fence has a history…it has a past…that old fence has a soul.

It’s the fence that has surrounded our back yard since our children and grandchildren were kids…we haven’t had the heart to replace it…and today…I’m glad we never did.

The young couple who live on the other side of our fence a young couple we’re just getting to know…who were pregnant when they moved next door…had their baby a week ago.

We were in our back yard yesterday…taking a little break…when we heard those distinctive sounds a newborn baby makes.

Joe, the father, was in his back yard holding Oliver, his baby, and Deborah and I were stunned…when he asked from over the fence if we’d like to see his son.

If you know anything about Deborah and I you know babies…we adore…

“Yes we would!” We shouted….like two kids in a candy store.

But in the midst of this pandemic we weren’t sure how this would commence…until Joe said, not to worry…I’ll meet you at the hole in your fence.”

So through the hole, that wonderful old hole, that years of weathering has produced…Oliver…Deborah…and I were formally introduced.

Oliver is beautiful baby…I say this with no pretense…and his beauty was framed perfectly by that hole in our old fence.

That hole in the fence that surrounds our back yard…where a few boards we've long ago misplaced….that old fence that surrounds our backyard…that we never will replace.

Because as we’ve grown old together….as our years unfold….

we find we’re less likely to get rid of something just because it’s gotten old.