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SPRING IS
Spring is not allegory. It is weighed in density of sound from drunken bees, intensity of sky, contrast of shade and glinting leaf, the whisper brush of breeze
against my sleeveless skin; and it is seen in swooping jay’s blue stitchery that sews pure cherry blossom white to tender green. Spring is the sun-baked boards beneath bare toes,
strawberries tart on tongue, the first warm night that lilac scent, as thick as honey pours through opened windows, moths around the light and filmy dust of pollen on the floors.
Don’t try to find a meaning or define, For spring is real and here and now and mine!
The Sunday Scribblings prompt is GIFT. Click here or on the banner to see how other bloggers meet this challenge.
This is an old poem of mine that seemed appropriate to the prompt. You may have seen it before, for which I apologize.
THE GIFT OF WORDS
You say I have the gift of words.
Someday my words may fail me, lost in a maze of neurons, wells of words with no bucket to retrieve them; or they may tangle on my tongue like Hannah's yarn after her stroke when she worried helplessly among her skeins and needles.
Gifts are for giving.
Thus I would bequeath to you a shimmer of words when I no longer can order them into their patterns. They will glint like breeze-tossed aspen leaves or glimmer like showers in sunshine where each drop holds a rainbow. They will be as numerous as stars as facets of waves as moments of our love and fragrant like water touching parched earth.
They will hold bird song and wind song but, alas, no Mozart, no sonnets, no meaning - just their fragments.
I will scatter them at random on a fragile web spangled with words and syllables like sequins and toss it scarf-like over you.
For the interpretations from participating bloggers click here.
ASSIGNMENT OF RESPONSIBILITY FOR IMPLEMENTING PEACE ON EARTHPeaceable Kingdom With Two Olivesby Will Bullas (downloaded). He sells prints of this painting
In the Peaceable Kingdom what will Lion do lying with studied calm beside the Lamb? Will he be satisfied with veggie stew? Will he chow down on chunks of soybean Spam?
To Wolf, who snuggles with his erstwhile feed what kind of kibble can substitute for Hare? Although her friend, the Hawk, eats sunflower seed will Mouse wax nervous at her hungry stare?
I contemplate this future state of grace, this lion-by-lamb, eagle-by-chipmunk view, this straight-from-heaven, love-each-other place: Purina research staff, we count on you!
A gal who seemed guileless and sweet Was riled when faced with deceit. "I thought he was Dem But he's one of Them Who steal from the man in the street!"
She shook her head sadly and sighed "Can a leopard change spots?" she decried "This guy is so stealthy - Gives alms to the wealthy. Can an elephant change its thick hide?!"
ABC Wednesday round 8 has reached the halfway point with the letter M. Click on link or banner to find what participating bloggers have posted.
The Merry-Go-Round at Tilden Park
Anna (at left) on Tilden Park Merry-Go-Round
The painted horses go round and around To the lilt of steam organ’s old-fashioned sound. Go up, go down, go round and around The Merry-Go-Round goes round and around The years go around and around.
The toddler rides with laughs of delight With Daddy beside her to hold her tight And the years go around, up day, down night And the Merry-Go-Round goes around.
The ups are winning, no downs today As teenagers come to the park to play And the sun shines bright on the Merry-Go-Round And the years go around and around.
When did the years start to spin so fast And the feet slow down? But the memories last Of child and child’s child, now outward bound And the years go around and around.
Who would have thought that I’d need to cry When the steed you rode on came bounding by Without you on it, that years would fly As the Merry-Go-Round spun around.
My husband, Otto, and our grandson, Dr. Byron Shock, without the dignity which their respective PhDs might imply, ride the Tilden Merry-Go-Round.
The painted horses go round and around To the lilt of the steam organ’s old-fashioned sound Go up, go down, go around and around The Merry-Go-Round goes around And the years go around and around.
I don’t mean the kind of political freedom that brave men and women are dying for right now, democracy (if such a thing exists), but freedom of choice on a much smaller scale.
I have much more personal freedom now that I no longer have the love of my life beside me,
I am free to live anywhere I choose to. I chose to move to Washington State to be near one of my sons and his dear wife, rather than being tied to Berkeley where Otto had been a professor for the greater part of our lives.
The Entrance to My New Home
I can decorate my new small home in whatever manner I choose. And I have done so, employing more green paint than most households use in a lifetime. I’ve filled it with dragons from many parts of the world, sculpted, cast, or otherwise crafted, and have done away with any clutter that is not self-generated. Gone are the plethora of electrical parts for Otto’s inventions, the piles of scientific papers being written or critiqued, the stacks of technical journals and books, the scattered tools for modeling new improvements of his patents or for making our big house more livable and beautiful. I love making home improvements but must leave it to others, volunteer or professional, since my talents and physical abilities preclude my doing it myself. But I have enough money to be free to have it done.
A Few of My Dragons
I now have the freedom to spend the inheritance that Otto left me on my personal choices, free of the constraints that are imposed by a partnership that tries to meet the needs of two people. Due to that same inheritance, I am free of most of the economic worries of the majority of people.
And you know what? I would gladly trade that kind of freedom for one more moment with Otto beside me.
And, now that I have written this response to the Sunday Scribblings prompt of Free, I find that I am not free of tears.
For more responses to the Sunday Scribblings prompt, click here or on the banner at the top of this post.
Mrs. Nesbitt's ABC Wednesday has reached I of the eighth round. For other entries, click on link or on badge at left, and it will lead you to participating blogs.
When we were way back at B, I posted something called Elegant Bears, which my son incorporated into a poster for his and wife Kristin's monthly Waltz Night, which they host and for which they and occasional guests provide the music, on violin (Kristin) and concertina or guitar (Otto) and on whatever instruments invited guest musicians prefer. His advertising posters have always incorporated this great impressionist painting of a dancing couple. It was my idea to add the bears. I decided that the next (April) poster should not leave each species on its own. In the friendly setting of the dance floor, it would be only polite for them to exchange dances. Hence these drawings.
She really isn't quite sure of this especially after smelling bear breath, but one has to be polite, doesn't one?
He, on the other hand, finds his partner an excellent dancer and is teaching her some intricate steps.
Born in Berkeley, although I have lived much of my life in other places. I now live across the street from my son Otto and his wife Kristin in Port Townsend Washington - a delightful town to live in and wheelchair friendly,
