framing Light

sharp, bright, fierce moon
glorious replacement for the sun
i prefer your hopeful, quiet, tranquil light
playful clouds in your glow tease by

stay

or better...return

remind us all
there is life and balance
Easter comes rising from the hope of reflected light
Be Light
I will wait for you
like the evening star, the morning star, a planet...
darkness is but a frame for the Light

Suddenly Sunday

5:00 a.m.!!???  Sh*t! That is NOT enough time before going to school.  Hate when I oversleep like that. Quick to the bathroom. Quick to the kitchen–gotta take that allegra-D an hour before eating breakfast and this is cutting it close but...d*mn.  Chased the magic pill with a full big glass of water.  Filled the kettle.  Gotta get Bubbi up and out so he’ll eat.  Unbelievable.  5:10 already.  I just hate it, this is going to be a beast of a week as it is!...haven’t overslept like this in MONTHS!  Even fell asleep on the sofa, what, 7:30 last night?  Don’t even remember transitioning from sofa to bed.

Hold up.

As the kettle started to exhale more and more loudly, a nagging thought wailed more and more loudly until I plucked it ripe and juicy into coherent translation: it’s * only * Sunday.

Yeah baby.  Sometimes it’s soooo good to be wrong.  Just because it isn’t a surprise doesn’t mean it isn’t a surprise.

Still don’t like to oversleep—in some ways more so on the weekends...but...hey, the whole day suddenly unrolled before me like red carpet to royalty I’m in heaven and there’s no more rush hallelujah it’s Sunday come!

not all corn fields are alike...not all houses are home

the image (why has this popped up into my head? I have no idea) is of me as a young teenager—was I 13? Standing in a second story bedroom looking out the window across a lonely country road at miles and miles ... or should I say acres and acres of very flat treeless fields of ripe corn.  Standing and staring at it like that was so different from driving past it.  It was so different from walking the wavy golden path at my Aunt Jean’s house alongside the wavy fields of waving corn or whatever crop they were growing at the time.  How I loved the two giant trees (oak?) on either side of that path—such delicious cool shade and the rattling of leaves in a near constant lilting breeze--- just before the path turned to see the house shaded at one end by trees and flanked at the corner with an enchanting azalea and dogwood garden.  Loved it there so much.  Loved that you couldn’t see the house from the road and how the world changed from the drive out of town into a whole other world when you turned on the path (before the gate was put up) and then it changed again over the crest under the trees and the house was on that slope down to the lake with all the cypress.  The most enchanting lake ever.  So when I stood in that bedroom in house with a small yard and no trees and looked out over the hot, parched, flat corn field it wasn’t right, it wasn’t alluring, it wasn’t home.  But the realtor and mom and dad all misunderstood my gazing silence.  I vaguely remember mom or dad mentioning what a beautiful view and how much I would love that and the realtor, bless him, said he had to be honest.  That land over there would very likely be bought soon by developers and in a short time the view would be the construction of houses like these.  Dad said well that will definitely not work.  She has always wept over the cutting down of trees and the loss of landscapes like this.  I still said nothing because it was true and even though I didn’t particularly like that view, I also didn’t particularly like that house, and I didn’t particularly like that sometimes it seemed somehow some things were either up to me or blamed on me and neither was particularly fair.  I was glad not to move there, though.  Funny how that’s the only house ever that I remember touring...and we moved every two or three years all my life (until this last decade) and I’ve been in hundreds and hundreds of prospective houses.  But that is the only one I remember.