Beyond the Fog

As I stood looking out from the shore,

He pulled deep in the wave, with his oar.

The curtain of fog over the sea,

His presence slipping away from me.

The waves crash fiercely onto the rock,

Misty air hangs thick, life it does mock.

For what lies beyond beauty, are waves,

Strong, ripping, piercing water of graves.

This surfer must try to take his chance,

Ride the wave below, this is his dance.

The ocean currents, riptides and all,

For him bring meaning, the sea does call.

So out beyond the curtain of fog,

Sit upon his board in misty bog.

This surfer waits til the time is right,

Upon the board, surfer takes his fight.

Riding his wave, gliding to the shore,

To me he returned, to him, one more...

Always a Pane of Glass

Linda sat, her back against the trunk of the maple tree, the textbook open resting on her lap.   Two young brown squirrels playing tag on the branches above, the leaves rustling, crackling, then the small spiralling dance of the orange leaf falling downward, landing on the page she was trying to read.  Smiling, Linda looked upward, searching the branches for the to and fro movement of the squirrels she knew were playing there.

Magpie 31

Linda watched as the squirrels were leaping from one tree to the next, darting back and forth, then moving on to a different branch playing the chase game.  She looked to the window, the mirrored reflection of the trees, branches swaying, leaves dancing as had the solitary leaf as it gently came to rest on her pages.

There, beyond the pane of glass, Sister Mary Catherine stood, her back to the window.   Linda had seen her there many times before, as she sat here in her favorite study spot under the maple trees.  So often that Linda was even beginning to learn the meanings of her stance.  

Brisk pacing, moving to and fro as had the young squirrels moved on the branches above, that meant someone, whomever had done something...  They were hearing the stern words of the latest lecture on the ill-chosen deeds they had done.    Standing off to the side of the window pane, the veil pulled ever so slightly back, yet not directly facing the glass... meant she was enjoying the solitude, the beauty of the maple trees towering over the wall of the courtyard as it approached the ornate gates that led to the gardens.  Probably, in the winter, when there were no leaves on the curving branches of these tall maples, Sister Mary Catherine could  see the colors of the solitary roses that would surprise everyone, standing tall over the white blanket covering the gardens.  

Or, on rare occasion, when Linda would look upward, she would catch a glimpse, just before Sister turned away, the smile as she looked downward, seeing Linda there, under the maples, diligently working on her studies.  At these moments, though neither Linda nor Sister Mary Catherine ever spoke of these moments,  Linda felt there was a deep connection between the two.  

It wasn't until years later, when Linda would return, seeking answers, direction, that she and Sister Mary Catherine would truly understand the connection they had developed there beneath the tall maple trees, a pane of glass always separating them.   This time, both Sister Mary Catherine and Linda stood beyond the pane, looking down, seeing yet another young women sitting under the tall maples, her back up against the trunk, now her favorite study spot.  This time, both smiling ever so slightly, before turning away to continue their discussion about when Linda would enter the convent.


If you enjoyed reading this short tale, check out Magpie Tales for others.  Willow leaves a weekly photo prompt to inspire what is within each of us.

At the Shore

photo prompt from Olive O'Brien's Creative Writing Ink

She sat waiting for me at the shore,

Clouds, sunlight, colors welcoming more.

Time passed, blending with eternity,

Nature, beauty, glorious was she.

It was here, for the first time I met,

Peace, serenity... from a sunset.

If you enjoyed this poem prompted by this photo, please hop over to Olive O'Brien's Creative Writing Ink  to see more inspired thoughts.  Here is the link:   http://creativewriting.ie/2010/09/07/september-7th/ 

A Different Perspective...

Yesterday, my Roomie and I were in search of a relaxing day in slightly cooler temps than was our local weather.  We were again hitting close to triple digits, so off we went to explore out near the ocean as it is only about an hour away.

First we stopped in the small town near our destination, enjoying a few of the shops.  We went in search of a "gown" that my Roomie needed for an upcoming Halloween project for our residents where we work.  They put together a Haunted House last year that was a big hit.  So we made sure that our stops included some of the many Thrift stores along the main street there. 

Then being not far from where we had visited the Tidepools in my recent post... it is only a short jaunt up the road, we thought we would stop by there and do some additional exploring.  This is where we found a totally different perspective....

This trip....                                                                     Last trip...

It was rather foggy and the tides were very high with rip currents on this visit.  Left one with a very different feel of the beach, but the temperatures were in the low sixties, much better than the triple digits at home.

Mist filled the air,

Surfers paddled out beyond the breakers,

Seagulls blended into the foggy sky.

Still, a day at the shore, relaxing, enjoying the ever present beauty of nature and the water.

Wasn't it Odd?

Maggie sat in the front seat of her blue Honda hatchback blankly staring into the darkness of the night, the parking lot full.  At the other end, the ambulance pulled up to the doors where the light was.  The driver jumped out and moved around to the back, opening the doors and pulling the gurney outward.  The frame dropped down and the bed moved easily on the wheels as the two walked up to the opening doors, and then they were gone into the light and the doors closed again.

Startled by the red flashing lights and the sound of the fire engine pulling up behind the ambulance, Maggie's thoughts came back to the present moment.  Realizing she had sat there in the car for a while, she reached forward to the keys dangling from the column and turned, now also hearing the familiar whir of the engine.  She pulled the gear shift back, placing it into the D slot, and slowly pulled away from the space.  As she turned onto the road, there was complete darkness except for the stripe down the middle.   She drove slowly over the ten mile stretch, her mind continuing to replay the events since the phone call at 1:30AM.  

Yes, they were keeping him overnight for observation.  Yes, when his head hit the counter as he fell backwards, he passed out.  YES, how fortunate that when he had walked in with the groceries, he had missed closing the door to the apartment all the way, leaving it ever so slightly ajar.  Who would have known he was hurt?  What if his neighbor had not come home at such a late hour, shortly after he had?  All the what if's played through her mind as she drove slowly down the road.  What if she had not given the neighbor her number when he went out of town last month - just in case of an emergency?  

Turning carefully into the narrow driveway, she pulled up close to the shelves in the back along the wall at the end.  She reached over for her purse, not finding it on the seat next to her.  The sun was beginning to creep up over the mountains behind her own apartment building.  There was more light as she turned and looked into the back seat.  Yes, the purse was there and her jacket. 

As she entered the building she climbed the stairs to the second floor, fumbled with the keys, her hand shaking as she placed the key into the slot.  Opening the door, she noticed the sun shining it's red rays through from the patio door.  She walked over to the door, dropped her purse and jacket on the counter and looked toward the rising sun, now peeking brightly over the top of the mountain behind the building.  As she turned back toward the livingroom, something caught her eye.  

There on the patio table, laying underneath the apple she had pulled from the small tree.  Vanity Fair.   It now seemed like a lifetime ago when she had written that story.   Suddenly she felt her legs weaken, she leaned forward catching the chair and pulling herself onto it.  She sat there looking blankly at the apple, at the magazine with her story in it. 

How could she have known?  Was it only coincidence?  What brought those words to her paper so many years ago?   Wasn't it odd that she had written this story so long ago, and now, when after years of attempts at getting it accepted, that her brother would fall while putting up groceries?  Just like in the first version of her story...  And on the very same day her story hit the newstands?  Wasn't it odd?


Written for and inspired by Magpie Tales by Willow at http://www.magpietales.blogspot.com/

Shades of Pink...

A small reflection of what I found in my yard today...

Reminders of how truly blessed we really are! 

The Cottage

As we walk down the lane, under the canopy of trees,

The spectrum of color, green, tan, and brown...  

A  mosaic below as the trees begin to drop their leaves,

All the hints of autumn, here in this wee little town.

Off to the right, the young one, standing next to the mare,

As we arrive at the pasture, he steps, stumbles, is down...

The mare reaches her long neck, nudges with care,

Those long wobbly legs, struggling,  his footing as the clown.

We meander further down the lane, enjoying our walk,

Taking in the colors, but the sky grey, showing it's frown,

The droplets beginning to fall,  surely ending our talk,

We scramble, the ground slick from the bucket down.

Then as suddenly as it started, the down pour slows to a sprinkle,

A path, calling from its end, a small delicate gate, leaning down...

She hesitates,  I look up into her eyes, there is the twinkle,

Looking back over time, she is remembering the gown.

This was their cottage, first house, so it felt like home,

Pitter patter of small feet, above brow a simple crown...

Together they grew, but then he would roam,

To the river he went, but only to drown.

And forever would this cottage be empty and bare,

Everyone impacted within this wee little town....

For the loss of this loved one, no one could share,

To the river he went, but only to drown.

 Written for Willow's Magpie Tales no. 29