Arc

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She opened her right palm and rested it on the rock, opened to the sky. Her left hand placed two stones inside.

It was a new year, with lots of twos. Twenty twenty. She was two, her own being with one other. He was large and black with eyes that reflected what was inside her, two eyes that glistened, twin stars. Castor and Pollux. And he was her twin. They did everything as one.

They walked here, together, into the trees where the stream flowed small, almost unnoticed. But noticed by those who needed it. She needed it today. The quiet. She was glad to have this space in the middle of a place that housed people on top of people and cars that ran the streets all hours.

But this space was hers right now. His head in her lap.

She curled her fingers around the two stones. She wanted to feel their roughness. She wanted to know their story. Their way to this place, like hers must have been round-about. Or maybe they were always there waiting for her.

Wasn’t that how it was? Someone or something always there waiting. Waiting to be what they were supposed to be for the one they were supposed to be for. So while they waited, they just were. Doing just what they were supposed to do.

 

The arc of the new bridge
spanned the thoughts of the young one
who knew its power.
Not because of something she was told,
but something she knew deeply within.

She wanted to build bridges.
Elegant ones,
although she didn’t know that word yet
in her five-year-old existence.

But she knew bridges were strong
and could take you over rough water.
Or over another road going another direction.
Or lift you high enough to see the mountains
and the plains,
if you could look both directions at once.

She knew this.
All of this in her five-year-old existence.
It would take courage
to move Earth to make the mounds.
And big trucks and large shovels.
It was a job for big machines.

But it also took a pencil
and a piece of paper
to draw the lines.
And isn’t that all that matters.
Isn’t that where it all begins,
with a line.
One elegant line
to take you forward or
around
or above and to the side.
And you are in control.
And you can do it.
And if you make a mistake,
no matter.
You just continue,
a sort of start over.
Because no one really knows,
and it doesn’t matter anyway.
And you find that,
eventually,
you create the most elegant
and beautiful life
with twists and turns
and mistakes
and glorious vistas
all with one pencil,
a line,
by listening to what
you know deep within,
not told.
Make the space
To listen
To do
To be
Just who and what you are.

And she marveled
each time they drove over
that arc
that bridge
that took them into town.

She opened her hand and placed the two rocks on the ground. 

He sighed and grumbled that he had to move to make way for another of her inventions. But he did. And this time it would be different. She had made the room to listen. 

She took her finger and starting at the two rocks side by side, she drew an elegant arc.

Author’s Note:

Driving to a new writing group this morning I was taken aback by the beauty of a bridge I had crossed over many, many times. The arc it made and the grace it carried in just being took my breath.

Stepping into a new year with 20-20 vision, as one participant described it, gives one a new lens in which to look through.

Shakin’ the Blues Away

Day Eight
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Shakin’ the Blues Awayit

I look into the blue for answers

I want it to come from a place
I cannot fathom, because,
maybe something I don’t know
or see or understand will answer
and the answer will palliate the pain
I can barely hold

She murmurs the petition, Lordy,
why do we have to ask love’s failing,
love’s loss,
can’t I see
she is blue

She was wrapped in blue by unknown hands.
When was the first time her robes flowed
the color of sky weeping into a sea of fishermen
who one day would journey away

Love is delivered in innumerable shipments,
loss just as manifold

It’s part of the deal

Blue skies smile
The blues wail

It’s all perspective

.

.

.

Author’s Note:

Losing someone you love leaves a hole so deep it’s difficult to take a breath big enough to fill it in in order to stay alive.

We put our doggie down this week, a good and right decision. But the wash of blue rolls over and over me again, and again and again.

This week, this month, this year have made me wonder about words in scripture, in poetry, in lyrics, in our day-to-day musings.

I reach for an answer and come back once again to Presence. I am on a journey here – this moment, right now – making my way to fully embrace all that Is.

And sometimes it hurts. It’s part of the deal.

Lexanne

Above image: Nature’s Love Song by Ioyan Mani